Into the Slallows
by mike3121
Summary: A Clive Cussler adventure from the Oregon series. Everything from hurricanes to Nazi's is thrown at the Oregon and crew. Can they survive?


Title: **Into the Shallows**

Category: Books » Clive Cussler

Author: mike3121

Language: English, Rating: Rated: K+

Genre: Adventure/General

Published: 05-12-12, Updated: 08-30-19

Chapters: 13, Words: 25,939

**Chapter 1: **

Into The Shallows A Clive Cussler Story From the Oregon Files

Chapter I

By Mike3121

Two longshoremen leaned on the railing and casually looked out into the bay. They were a rough pair and drank and gambled to excess. Each held much sought after jobs in an otherwise impoverished third world country. At that moment their attention was directed towards a ship moving away from the port and out to sea.

"I wonder if she'll make it out of the bay?" The tallest of the two said, then spit over the railing. The short one laughed and also spit. "It sure won't last out even a mild storm." He replied. "Don't see many like her nowadays, you know a bulk carrier." The tall one added, again spitting. Yea everything's containers now." The short one replied.

The short one thought for a second and added. "Strange crew. I saw some in the customs shed. They were all clean-cut Americans, even some darn pretty looking women. Most rusted hulks like that have a mishmash of rough types from all over the world. This bunch looked military to me." This got the tall one's attention. "Hmm" the tall one added deep in thought. "Well we'll never know will we."

"What's its name, can you read it?" He asked. The short one strained his eyes, "ORE-GUN, Oregun mispronouncing it as "gun" and not the correct "gon."

To the untrained and even trained eye, the good ship Oregon was a rusting hulk. On the hull, the only area not carefully disguised as rusted and chipped was its name. By international maritime law, the ship's name must be clear and ledge-able at all times. Other than that she was a sad sight what with rust everywhere, rivets missing and voluminousness black smoke pouring from the smoke-stained stack. From across the bay, you could even hear it's ancient triple expansion engine straining, beating out a raw and loud metal-to-metal sound that would give a shudder to any mechanic.

Both longshoremen sighed when they heard the familiar sound of a horn announcing the end of their break. Watching the ship Oregon leave port was a momentary distraction and soon would be forgotten. Also forgotten would be the spot-on observations of the short dock worker, "they looked military to me." The crew of the Oregon didn't need or want that type of attention. No attention at all was their goal.

The captain of the Oregon, or Chairman to some, looked out to sea. Captain Juan Cabrillo was the CEO and captain of the Oregon, a lethal floating high tech weapons platform in the guise of a decrepit old bulk carrier. He was not muscle-bound or overly developed but had tremendous endurance. His endurance was being put to a test. He could walk or even run for miles but idle standing on the bridge brought pain to what was left of his legs.

He lost both legs in a mission and was successfully fitted with prosthetic legs. They took many hours of sweat and pain to get used to. Captain Cabrillo also had to deal with phantom pain; Severe pain in his legs that no longer existed. Standing, shifting his weight from leg to leg was no use, he had to sit. The old warn and duck tapped captains chair offered him momentary relief.

When he could Juan Cabrillo would play a rousing game of tennis for disabled Iraq and Afghan veterans. Both he and his opponent would bounce all over the court, diving, returning and having a spirited game. Then, at the end of the match, they would show the veterans their prosthetic legs. "Hey, if we can do it so can you." He felt a warm glow in his heart to see these brave broken men and women taking courage from his affliction.

"Course Captain?" the helmsman asked from below decks. The true "bridge" was an ops center located below decks and accessible via a secret elevator. The helmsman was, like most of the crew decorated former military. Eric Stone. It took him real effort to make the nimble and fast Oregon behave like an old wreck while in port and around other ships. When out in the open sea he could maneuver her as he envisioned. Captain Cabrillo looked at a chart and read off a heading. Seconds later all 560 feet of high tech and lethal equipment responded to Helmsman Stone and turned.

The ship's engine was an experimental Magneto-hydrodynamic drive or MHD. It involves passing an electric current through seawater then interacting with the magnetic field of current through the water causing forward motion. It was far from a developed system but was silent, simple and capable of tremendous speeds.

Below decks and where the engines of a normal ship might be were 4 large hydrogen fuel cells. They were of the latest design and used sodium silicide. This advancement did away with the expensive proton exchange units. The ultimate product of these hydrogen cells was heat in the form of steam which turned electricity-producing steam turbines.

While on a recent mission down the Congo River it was evident that more battery power was needed as the MHD could not operate in freshwater. When in freshwater the ship used powerful jets of water for its forward motion and steering. The Chairman vowed to correct a lack of electrical power. Besides new energy-hogging advanced systems were being fitted constantly. One possible solution involved experimental and expensive satellite quality solar panels. They provided up to 50% more power than conventional panels. The panels were layered just under the deck and behind Guerrilla Glass. When not around curious eyes a quick flick of a button and the metal deck would slide away to expose the panels to sunlight.

Out on the desk was Able Bodied Seaman Mark Dietrich or ABS Dietrich. His eyes were dark brown as was his hair. Though thoroughly Americanized he was of German stock. His family had migrated several years previous. His father was in the German Air Force during the '70s and flew the dangerous F104's. He was stationed in Texas for training and liked the wide opened spaces so much the family eventually emigrated.

ABS Dietrich was assigned to watch the uncovering of the new solar panels. Since this was a new "gimmick" aboard a gimmick laden ship it had to be tested under scrutiny. When the unmasking of the solar panels went as expected ABS Dietrich gave a quick call on his walkie to the Ops Center.

The Oregon's crew was composed of highly technical people, commando's like former SEALS, Special Forces, and Force Recon, as well as the Executive Staff (Officers). ABS Dietrich, as with a number of the crew, not part of the "glory boys and girls." The duties ABS Dietrich performed were necessary but dull and repetitive. For every combat soldier on the line were perhaps dozens of support personnel. He was former U.S. Navy with one tour in the Gulf. His career was uneventful, just boring duty on a supply ship.

When he got out he was all fired up with three goals dancing before his eyes. Get a job, get a girlfriend and lastly buy a brand new Camaro ZL1. The first one, the most important one "get a job," was difficult with the whole world in recession. The girlfriend and Camaro would have to wait. Then this friend told him a merchant ship, The Oregon was interviewing for jobs.

You would think he was getting a job with the CIA because of the detailed security check he had to endure. The pay, wow, well off the scale. He figured it was some sort of black ops ship and was proven correct when he was hired. His hand was tired from signing a ton of non-disclosure agreements. Then the tour of the ship. The Oregon truly was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

ABS Dietrich did have his sights on a cute young gal aboard ship. He was shy and couldn't look a young woman in the eyes much less ask her for a date. The object of his attention was far from his reality. She was a stunning beauty with long light brown hair and mesmerizing hazel eyes. Gale Turner was her name and she was part of the commando team. When he did get a glance of her she was always working out in the ship's gym with her beefy male commando types. A few times he'd caught a glance of her on a training mission; climbing in or out of a Zodiac dressed in a tight-fitting all-black jumpsuit, camo face paint and armed to the teeth.

Though he had not done anything to draw her attention it seemed that she was aware of his interest. While passing in a narrow companionway she would look right at him and smile. She even said Hi to him once. Mark was just a lowly cog in a wheel. How could this very hot, commando GI Jane that spoke 5 languages fluently, was well versed in every form of hand-to-hand combat and could fire almost every weapon imaginable be interested in him? Mark was handsome enough but couldn't hold a candle to a muscular SEAL or Special Forces. Mark sighed, Gale Turner was a full 10 and he may be a 6 and that was on a good day.

Captain Cabrillo gathered his ranking members of the ship in the main conference room. In attendance were Franklin Lincoln former SEAL and de facto Executive Officer. Next the always full of energy Mark Murphy, Chief Weapons Operator, and a certified genius. Max Hanley, on a regular ship, would be the dirty grimy Chief Engineer but on this ship, he wore spotless light blue coveralls. Eddy Seng as Shore Operations Specialists formerly of the CIA. The last was Hali Kasim Chief Communications Specialists.

"What mission does the captain have for us today," Max said in a joking manner. "Don't you know, old lady Heppelwife's cat has stuck up a tree and we have to rescue it post-haste." Eddy Seng added. "Ha, ha, all very funny." Captain Cabrillo said while unfurling a map. He then began to speak. "As you know we have to actually take on and deliver small amounts of real cargo sometimes to keep up our cover. I want this ship to be a regular fixture in ports throughout the world. I know while traversing in and out of ports our smudge pots in the stack have sent us all into fits of coughing. Not to mention the loud engine noise." Franklin then added, "Well if we look like a duck we've to smell and sound like one as well."

The meeting was interrupted by the arrival of Maurice, the Chief Cook. He was more like a gourmet chef. Formerly of the British Navy, he could cook up anything your taste buds desired from Beef Wellington to SOS. At that moment he was handing out life-giving fresh hot coffee to the assembled ship's officers. There was no need to take your order in advance, Maurice had most everyone's coffee preferences down pat.

After they all had a good drink of coffee their attention was again drawn to the map. Captain Cabrillo went on to explain their next mission was a bit of dull surveillance. It seems the Chinese were perhaps supplying Iran several ICBM's. Having the missiles delivered right to an Iranian port such as

Chabahas was out of the question. Too many prying eyes. The missiles were un-assembled and in large crates marked "farm tools." These crates would be transferred from a Chinese freighter, at sea, to an obscure freighter with a dubious chain of ownership. The freighters would be shadowed by a Chinese

Type 054A frigate and a Type 052C destroyer NATO code of Luyang II. It was just a humdrum surveillance mission and didn't pay much but the folks at Langley wanted a bit more than just satellite coverage. We were to keep our distance and listen to the radio chatter. Langley figured we were good for one innocent-looking pass by without raising suspicion. Perhaps the Oregon could follow at a discreet distance the as yet un-named ship carrying the so-called "farm tools."

The crew was duly informed via the PA system of the mission and reacted with a universal yawn. Mark Dietrich finished the rest of his watch and went below decks. No hot bunking on the Oregon; most members of the crew had their private quarters. Private quarters went with seniority though. He shared a rather spacious room with two other seamen.

ABS Harris lay on his bunk listening to an iPod. It was hard not to find him listening to his iPod. Harris was an easy-going sort not prone to anger; when off duty he just wanted to be left alone. Harris was tall and lanky with a profusion of freckles across his face. He kept his hair short, almost bald, which was popular with many young men now. Harris was also a U.S. Navy vet with much the same background as Mark with no Purple Hearts or Navy Crosses in his service record. Mark didn't know much about him as Harris was not much of a talker.

Mark's hardly knew his other roommate Greg Johnson since they were on opposing watches. Greg's equivalent Navy rank would be PO 3rd Class. He was a handsome young man with a severe problem of balancing his large harem of girlfriends. Tall, well-tanned and possessing a quick mind he was destined to go places. Duty on the Oregon was a brief stepping stone for something greater. Make a pile of dough, see the world and get out was his mission. Ultimately he wanted to be a lawyer, however, law school wasn't cheap. Mark was glad he didn't see much of Greg as Greg tended to be a know-it-all and was always hyperactive.

On and on the Oregon trudged across the South Atlantic from the coast of Africa towards it's AO, an area south of Cuba in the Caribbean. ABS Mark Dietrich went about his repetitive and boring tasks with a resigned sense of duty. "Just like the Navy", he murmured under his breath. Yet each day two of his goals came closer to reality; a job and a hot Camaro. His third, a girlfriend, remained an elusive dream. He stopped in his tasks for a moment and looked up towards the beautiful clear tropical sky.

Many miles away, and in fact, many years away sat Professor Viktor Friedman or "man of peace" in German. He was far from it. He ignored the tropical sky, any sky or natural phenomenon, his mind was always a whirl of complex equations.

Chapter 2

By Mike3121 

Professor Viktor Friedman was a rarity in the Third Reich, a nuclear scientist. Fortunately for the world, Hitler was not interested in nuclear science; he called it "Jew Science." However, there were those in high places and unbeknownst to the Mad Corporal were hard at work developing a nuclear bomb. Developing such a device in war-torn Europe was not fees-able but deep in the south American jungles of Brazil was another matter. A bit of money here and there, a bride, a threat, someone disappears was all that was needed. Far up a rarely used tributary of the Amazon sat a fully functional German military base. They even had a sub pen for up to 5 U-Boats to ply the nearby ocean sinking any allied ship that might venture too close. 

The professor thought of himself as brilliant, which he was, for he had studied at the most prestigious of European universities. Six books published and 2 still in print. He was portly and balding with a wild profusion of graying brown hair. His small intense brown eyes betrayed a quickness of thought and a high level of cruelty. Professor Friedman could best be described as a "cold fish." Lacking in all emotion and care for his fellow man. As a deranged narcissist, he only cared for his comfort and amassing power. 

The base had been years in planning and just before the war, the river had been dredged. Now tramp steamers under the guise of neutral countries could keep the base supplied from bratwurst to fuel oil. The base was medium in size with 5 barracks to house the Waffen SS troops that acted as security. They were a battle-hardened and ruthless lot, having been pulled from duty on the Russian front. Their ruthlessness was about to be demonstrated. 

The professor yawned with boredom and casually waved away a persistent fly. Out across the compound was a large pen that housed the slave labor. Mostly amazon natives with a few Brazilians from the slums. None were enthusiastic workers. Now and then the Waffen SS commander, Major Eggers, would execute a few in front of their companions. The Major was tall, good looking in a Teutonic sort of way. He was well-muscled and intelligent as well. 

Some people are given everything, good looks, intelligence, perfect health. What they do with this gift is another matter. The Major was evil, pure and simple evil. He delighted in torture and killing. It was an art form for him. The Eastern Front was well known for its brutality. Yet the major and his men exceeded to levels of barbarity beyond that of even the cold Eastern Front. 

The professor watched with indifference as the firing squad lined up five men chosen at random. The natives fidgeted nervously quite aware of what was to happen next. Professor Friedman was relaxed while sitting in a wicker chair on a shady porch sipping a cool drink. He watched the drama out of boredom. These men were trash to him, "Untermensch." Worthy only of death. 

The professor heard the screen door open behind him and out stepped three of his fellow scientists. Two women and a man. The tall leggy blonde was Dr. Katarina Bauer. If anyone looked like the stereotypical Valkyrie it was her. She was tall, almost 1.85 meters with a profusion of golden hair all done up in braids. She had high pronounced cheekbones which gave her an air of royalty. The professor thought there must have been a "Von" somewhere in her family lineage. She was brilliant and her math often exceeded that of the professors. He hated her for that, each day his hatred grew, fed by the intense tropical humidity and heat. She was not a party member and therefore suspect. 

With her was a dark-haired younger woman, Dr. Hanna Lange. Though much shorter than her companion she was very pretty. Her shoulders and arms were well tones from physical exercise. Dr. Lange's face was rounded; the type of young woman when she got older might put on some weight if she didn't watch it. She wasn't brilliant, not as brilliant as he was anyway. 

The last of the trio was Dr. Hubert Faber. He was tall and always immaculately dressed even for the oppressive heat and humidity of the tropics. Dr. Faber was in his early 50's. He had a long face with creases, making him look much older than his actual years. His education, to the professor, was not very prestigious. He had not attended any of the elite European schools. He had studied engineering in the United States. Dr. Faber was the link between science and engineering. He and 20 other technicians were constructing the actual atomic bomb. 

Dr. Lange gave a sharp cry when she saw the guards lining up the poor peasants for execution. "Guter Gott im Himmel," She muttered and did a 180, returning inside the building. Her companions did likewise, disgusted with the brutal ways of Major Eggers. Professor Friedman openly laughed at them.  
Shots rang out and the captives fell, riddled with a deadly barrage of bullets. A huge flock of brightly colored tropical birds rose from the surrounding triple canopy amid loud squawks of protest. Bodies of the fallen were drug to the river's edge and thrown in. The river was home to a multitude of predators. Schools of blood-crazed Parana's were the most efficient at stripping flesh from bone. There was laughter among the guards and a few bets as to how fast the bodies would be stripped clean. Human life had been taken yet seconds later the routine of the camp returned. 

A loudspeaker blared a call for lunch. Bored guards, technicians in white lab coats, clerical staff all made their way to the large dining hall. Given this was a primitive location the food was outstanding. The SS always got the best of food and equipment. Being a priority and secret scientific endeavor also meant a priority of food and equipment. The mess was large and well lit. Vast amounts of electricity were supplied from a hydroelectric dam not far up the river. A crack team of SS men kept it well guarded day or night. 

Professor Friedman, as usual, sat alone. Quit to his surprise Major Eggers sat down with him. He immediately dug into a heaping plate of sausage, potatoes, and fried eggplant. "Killing people always makes me hungry." He said stuffing his mouth and chewing in an uncouth manner. Then he looked at the professor and said under his breath. "They will be sent back on the next resupply ship. A quick trial then," Major Eggers made a shape of a pistol with his fingers, "one-shot each to the back of the head. Too bad about Dr. Bauer, such a waste of a fine looking woman." Professor Friedman sniffed. 

The professor's mind was a turning swirling mass of emotions and hatred. He had grown to suspect the trio of Bauer, Lange, and Faber as plotting against him. He didn't care if they were guilty or not, the charge of plotting against the Third Reich was all that was necessary. Such a charge would elevate him to a higher position within the party and show that he was vigilant against treason. Six months ago he sent two young technicians back for execution. They had made a simple mistake with nuclear triggers. Mistakes were not to be tolerated by the professor so they had to die. 

Across the dining hall sat "The Trio," as Professor Friedman called them. They too were plotting; plotting an escape. Dr. Bauer was on friendly terms with a clerk in Major Egger's office. He had seen the arrest papers all signed and dated and alerted her to the danger. They knew the professor was a nasty piece of work but couldn't believe how murderous he had become. They had secretly been cultivating a senior sergeant in charge of the small craft docked down at the river. There were a dozen boats, from fishing craft to large cruisers. Every Sunday the three, Bauer, Lange and Faber would check out the most powerful cruiser for a day of boating and sunbathing. Full gas cans, as well as rations, were hidden in the jungle. Copies of the boat's ignition keys had been made. Each had packed a small bag of essential personal items. Maps though were closely guarded and almost impossible to obtain. They all knew that when they made their escape the Nazi's would stop at nothing to hunt them down. What they needed was a miracle.

**Chapter 3:**

By Mike3121

Mark Dietrich sat alone in the sparse ship's theater watching "The Longest Day." The cruse had been, so far anyway, very boring. The movie was half over when a latecomer entered. To his surprise, the latecomer turned out to be Gale Turner. God! And she sat down next to him. "Miss much?" she whispered. Stunned Mark managed a "not really" and gave her a quick synopsis. They sat in silence for a while. Mark had now forgotten the movie and sat in nervous apprehension thinking up a cute line he could throw at her but dis-guarded one after another. When the movie ended they went for a walk and leaned on the railing looking out at the bright blue sea and sky. Mark was a shy person by nature. This was the moment, a young man, a young woman, a romantic background. The moment soon passed – Mark knew in his heart he blew it.

"Bermuda Triangle is up ahead. Do you take much stock in the rumor?" Mark said trying to make small talk. "Maybe, some pretty credible things have taken place there. Remember that whole flight of planes just up and vanished. The place has a history of that, ships, planes, you name it" She replied thoughtfully. Mark was just getting the courage up to ask her if she wanted to get a coffee when six sweaty muscular commando's jogged by. Gale casually slapped one on the butt. "Get moving you slacker," she said in jest. Somehow Mark managed to ask if she'd want to have coffee together. She gave him a sly look and nodded. Things were looking up, maybe he hadn't blown it after all. He was no longer bored but went about his duties with renewed energy, even whistling which he never did.

Up in the Operations Center, Captain Cabrillo listened attentively while his CIA handler back at Langley gave him a SITREP (situation report). Based on new data, including spy satellite pictures the idea of an at-sea transfer of ICBM parts was not true. No Iranian ship at all. It was a 100% Chinese mission. The CIA detected an old derelict of a ship, much like the Oregon, anchored in a shallow area well off the shipping lanes. Just over the horizon were 2 Chinese warships providing cover. One was a Type 054A frigate. Another a Type 052C destroyer NATO Code of Luyang II. Both were lethal fighting platforms. The military ships were meandering about in lazy circles while the merchant ship did "something" in the shallow water. Everyone wanted to know what the "something" was.

The captain talked it over with Linc and the most prudent option was to wait for the Chinese ships to move on. Captain Cabrillo could sympathize with the Chinese merchant ship's captain. He was deep into The Shallows, as marked on the chart. It was a large area of the ocean within the Caribbean that had once been a series of small islands. Through the millennium they had sunk beneath the waves and become coral reefs with interlinking sandy bays. The depth of this whole area was from a few feet to 150 feet – a very dangerous place for a ship and pure crazy for a captain to deliberately navigate into.

"Captain," cried Hali Kasim, Chief Communications Specialist from an inter-ship speakerphone, "hand-off in 10 minutes." The hand-off was when two ships well out to sea might pass each other relatively close and change identities. It was to only swap radio call signs, the names of the ships were never repainted. The Oregon was to now become the Wexford, an English registered ship. The Wexford, in reality, was an English version of the Oregon run by MI-6. Later the ships would cross again on some lonely stretch of ocean and switch back. This procedure was common with intelligence gathering ships.

Finally, the satellite feed showed the Chinese merchant ship weighing anchor. Carefully it began maneuvering out of the complex interlocking bays and reefs. It was frustrating for both Langley and Captain Cabrillo to watch the hulking cargo ship carefully and slowly, going no more than 4 knots, winding the path to the open sea.

The captain announced to the personnel within the Operations Center that they would get underway shortly. In no time at all the huge ship Oregon aka Wexford, got up to full speed. They didn't want to be seen as heading right for the spot where the Chinese merchant ship was engaged in some nonferrous endeavor so they went at a slight angle. On radar, it would look like they were going around the notorious Shallows. At the last second, the captain intended to move in, spend no more than 30 minutes on-site and get out. The old expression, "The best-laid plans of mice and men" would soon fit the situation.

The radar man, one Thomas Dunken, called Linc and the captain over to look at his screen. The screen showed a vast area of the sea to be darker in color than the surrounding ocean. It was evident something was there but what? It was dead ahead and stretching for miles. "What the hell is that?" Linc said in wonder. "It's close enough to be seen with the naked eye, let's take a look." Captain Carrillo added, grabbing a pair of high powered binoculars.

Both men went out on the deck. Captain Cabrillo put the binoculars to his eyes and looked. "Oh hell, damn, damn hell," he said in consternation. He then handed the binoculars to Linc. Linc's comments were a bit more colorful with lot's of "F" words. What they saw stretching for miles was a virtual sea of trash. Millions upon millions of bits of plastic, plastic bottles, old mono-filament driftnets that would not decompose. Just a sea of trash. The captain had run across these before but none so huge. The ocean seemed to him to have areas of eddies where this sort of trash collected. He sighed. They would have to go around for even a bit of this trash being sucked into the MHD drives could cause extensive damage. Another course was plotted and the Oregon was off. There was more than a sea of trash to slow the Oregon on its mission.

Far away, on the western side of The Shallows sat a small diving ship. It was 250 feet long, diesel-powered and getting a bit long in the tooth. A complete retrofit in dry dock was what was needed but this ship, like many plying the ocean was at the whim of economic considerations. On each side of its rust streaked hull was painted a huge red and white diving flag.

The captain of the Drunken Lady was Milo Stern, 55 years of age, average in height at 6 foot. Milo had a well-tanned and deeply lined face though much of it was obscured with a full gray beard. His brother Stan, just two years his junior stood, next to him. Stan was a virtual twin of his older brother and sporting the same type full beard. Neither minded when people mistook one for the other.

They were masters and owners of the Drunken Lady. The ship specialized in the archaeological underwater excavation. On paper, they were wealthy taking in 2 to 3 million per year. Then there were the outlays; cooks, crew, diesel, insurance. Oh yes, insurance. Each year the premiums kept rising, almost doubling. At some future day, the Stern Diving and Underwater Exploration LLC would reach a tipping point. Then there would be bankruptcy, Chapter 11, lawyers, red tape and government inspectors. Not today though.

Below them in the water, diving off a rubber raft were a dozen students. Underwater was a dozen more. The students were thoroughly enjoying themselves learning how to properly recover ancient artifacts from the sea. The Sterns employed, at great cost, 2 dive qualified archaeology experts. Generally, the dives were uneventful; Milo and his brother always preferred to play it safe. However when dealing with the ocean that was never a sure thing. The Stern brothers had been in operation for many years.

Once a girl had been bitten by a shark. It was a bad wound and she had to be airlifted off the ship by the U.S. Coast Guard. Other than that there were the usual cuts and abrasions from coral and sea urchins. In general, the students were more trouble above the waves than below what with nighttime bed-hopping.

Being both master mariners they could tell when something was wrong; a seaman's sixth sense. Milo looked at his brother, "Notice the temperature for today." Stan nodded gravely. The had been anchored at this location for the last week. During that time it had been extremely hot and humid with the water temperature close to 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing was stirring and the ocean was flat as a pancake.

The old expression "a calm before a storm," was based on facts. Excessively hot water gave rise to extreme humidity. This hot humid air wanted to rise. It would claw its way upward in a counter-clockwise manner (clockwise below the equator). The walls of this climbing air mass would speed up, sucking more air in from the surrounding ocean. "I don't like the looks of this," Milo added. "Neither do I," Stan replied. They had just one more day and they would fulfill their contract with an oceanographic university.

One more day was all they needed yet the signs were there, a hurricane was brewing and they were sitting smack dab in the center of it. Their nautical sense told them to immediately haul anchor and get out but financially they needed that extra day. "Stan, what do we do?" Milo asked agonizing over a decision. Stan shook his head, "We get out now, this old tub will be lucky to make 14 knots. These students are our responsibility, they trust us." Stan said firmly. "Glad you said that little brother."

Then much to the student's confusion, the dive was cut short, gear stowed and quickly the old ship was underway towards the safety of Miami. A wise decision for the Drunken Lady would survive to sail again and take many more young students on a thrill of a lifetime diving adventures.

**Chapter 4:**

By Mike3121

Dr. Tyrone Williams worked at the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA)/National Weather Center in Miami. He was a tall distinguished-looking African American. Ever since he was a small boy clawing his way out of Overtown he was fascinated with weather. His mother often found him standing in the middle of the yard soaked to the skin and looking skyward at a violent thunderstorm. This craving to know the inter-workings of weather systems drove him on through college, grad school and the pinnacle a doctorate in meteorology.

His short hair was graying, he now wore thick glasses and often fumbled for words. Yet his fascination with weather and all its variables stayed with him. Being located in Miami NOAA was the central hub of detecting, tracking, and warnings of hurricanes. So far this hurricane season there had been only three. Two were of no consequence and dissipated. One had grown to a category 3 but never came near land or shipping lanes. It also dissipated into a mere tropical storm.

Dr. Williams was looking over the weather data received from ships at sea. Satellite imagery was helpful but didn't tell the whole story. He read with interest a message from a diving ship, the Drunken Lady. The doctor laughed when he read the name. Another meteorologist asked what was funny. Dr. Williams handed him the note. "That's a great name for a ship. I wonder how that name came about." Dr. Williams raised his eyebrows and laughed.

It worried the Doctor that this new data came from and an area near The Shallows. Shallow water heats quickly in tropical climates. Couple that with oppressive humidity and you get a prescription for a budding hurricane. The doctor circled the area in red. There were many other circles on his map but this caused him the most worry. He had a bad feeling about this one.

Aboard the Oregon the crew was elated for they were getting near the end of the debris field. "Now we head for The Shallows. Damn the trash. Full speed ahead" The Captain Cabrillo said in jest. Linc looked at him, "Uh, that must be the updated one." He replied. The big ship Oregon made a sudden course correction and in no time approached the notorious Shallows.

The weather so far had been perfect, too perfect. Everything was so still with the usual turbulent ocean now flat and serene. Like the veteran skipper of the Drunken Lady, Captain Cabrillo had an uneasy feeling. They would linger for as short a time as possible then get out. Preparations for exploring the area were being made. Two Zodiacs were being readied, divers suited up; Draeger Scuba Rebreathers were gotten out of storage and checked. The Captain was leaning on a railing when his face felt the red hot sting of wind and ripples were now forming on the once placid water's surface.

The Operations Center now came alive, sonar, radar all other sensors on the ship were up and running. There were even men aloft. One of those was ABS Mark Dietrich. He was none to keen about heights but would do his job without protest. The view was magnificent especially of the water. It was so clear you could see to the bottom, even at 100 feet depth.

Deeper and deeper they maneuvered into The Shallows. Captain Cabrillo had just returned to the Operations Center when one of his crew exclaimed, "Magnetometer going crazy. We're picking up something on the sea bed just ahead." A sonar report also verified the data. The Oregon was 560 foot long with a draft or displacement of 38 feet. The depth below the keel was now 90 feet and getting shallower by the minute. Linc and the Chairman watched the digital readout of the Depth Gauge Transducer. Finally, it settled on 80 feet. As long as the sea was calm 80 feet would have to do.

Mark's walkie came alive. It was his immediate boss, Deck Officer Larry Saunders. Saunders was an old school grizzled navy veteran that had started as a marine. He was a hard demanding supervisor that was all business all of the time. Heavyset and balding he was never at home in what he called, the "civilian navy." Having recently spent 4 years in the Navy Mark felt at easy around Master Chief Saunders; with him, you knew where you stood at all times.

"Got a visual," Saunders said in his usual gruff to the point manner. "It should be right below you boy!" He added in irritation. Mark looked hard but the sun was reflecting off the surface. It was to Mark as one of those pictures with a hidden object, you can't see it then suddenly, it's all clear to you. Mark had just had one of those moments. He yelled into his walkie excitedly. "Yes, yes, just below a rectangle structure of some type. Um, two long tube-like structure a few feet away. It all looks to be painted cleaver like to blend with the sand."

Marks description was picked up and broadcast throughout the Operations Center. Linc and the captain looked at each other in shock. Those long tubes could only mean one thing – missiles. This was confirmed when a radiation sensor picked to traces of weapons-grade enriched uranium. Just at that moment of realization, Langley came on the screen.

"Get out'a there!" stated their CIA controlled with urgency. "You must have tripped a seabed sensor. Them two Chinese warships are headed your way at full speed. Going way faster than we had estimated. Must be their new top-secret anti-fouling paint." He added. "What? Captain Cabrillo said in irritation. "Um," The CIA man stated quickly, "You ever see a microscopic picture of metal. I mean it's all bumpy, deep ridges and stuff. Well, the Chinese, with the help of an American company, developed a new paint that covers all those bumps. The bottom is as smooth as babies behind. With this paint, their hulls slip through the water like a hot knife through butter." The Captain was furious that a US company would work for the Chinese Navy at the expense of the U.S. Navy. Captain Cabrillo remembered some quote of Carl Marx, something about capitalism would provide the rope to hang its elf. "They're doing 'en 55 knots right now." The whole ops center went silent when they heard that.

Meanwhile, two Zodiacs with 2 divers each and one safety per raft shoved off. Quickly they were over the objects below. It was determined that two divers would go down first, take a lot of pictures then decide what to do next. One diver, a former SEAL was Travis Green, a big hulking muscular African American. His companion, Gray Kindred had been an underwater welder, working on oil rigs. He was one of the few on the ship with no military experience. With thinning blonde hair he was muscular and reaching late middle age. Gray was a bit touchy so people never kidded with him and he had few friends on board. Each diver was equipped with OTS diver-to-diver communications.

Gale Turner was part of the dive team and would be the safety and stay in the Zodiac monitoring the dive. Gale looked about her at the turbulent water; above loomed the huge slab-sided steel side of the Oregon. She felt very alone. The water was getting rougher by the minute and tossed her about. Shallow areas, especially when surrounded by the open sea, tend to amplify the waves. Waves would roar in then bounce off a partially submerged coral reef then it would careen into another. It was like shaking a full glass of water. Captain Cabrillo recalled the second Zodiac back to the launch ramp in the stern. Time was of the essence now. Gale could feel the wildness in the air, a massive storm was brewing.

Below the violent waves, all was serene. The two muscular divers Travis Green and Gary Kindred quickly descended and found themselves within a few feet of the mysterious objects. Travis carried a movie camera and Gary a still.

Captain Cabrillo listened intently while watching Travis's sometimes shaky images on a monitor. In a careful monotone, Travis began to verbally document what he was looking at. "The building is about 50 feet long, 8 feet high and 20 feet wide. On the end facing the missiles are three sets of large windows. It is all dark inside, wait, a faint glow of red from a control panel. On the roof, about in the middle of the building is a round ball-like structure. It has handles on the side with a small door and round window. On the top of this object is a circular metal "O" ring probably a foot or more in diameter. It'd say the whole object is 10 feet in diameter. It looks like to me to be an emergency escape pod."

"Langley, Are you getting all this?" Captain Cabrillo said into a speakerphone. A curt crackled reply of "yes," was the response. Travis continued. "At the rear of the building is a long tube-like projection, say 8 feet long and 3 feet wide. On the projection are three evenly spaced drum-like devices. They are open to the sea and seem to rotate with the current. They look like big squirrel cages." He then added, "Ah yes. I bet you've got a copper coil in the tube with neodymium boron magnets spinning around on the outside to create electricity." There was a long pause then, "Yes," Travis continued, "There's a duplicate on the other side. Another box-like structure about 6 foot by 6 foot is on the roof. It looks like some sort of desalinization device." Travis then swam towards the missile tubes.

"Nothing much here. Two mid-range nuclear missiles on launch rails. The missiles are pointed north towards the US. There are a couple of large tanks on the launch rails and look to me to be filled with compressed air. They are probably launched via this method. Captain, the whole thing looks prefab to me. The Chinese just drop the whole thing into the ocean and have it up and running in less than a day." There was a long pause. "Gary and I are going inside. There's an airlock on the side. We'll give you an update when we're in." Linc then spoke into the microphone, "Be careful they may have it booby-trapped."

Captain Cabrillo turned towards Linc. The captain's forehead was furrowed and his expression showed deep worry. "Clever, the Chinese, ring the US with these shallow water nukes well out of the 200-mile limit. Along comes some crisis and they drop off a crew or remotely launch." Linc also showing concern stated. "Yea cheap and time to target is probably mere minutes, maybe seconds depending on the launch site." "Man there is going to be huge diplomatic fallout over this," Linc added. Captain Cabrillo shook his head. "This whole business will be swept under the rug. We've sure seen enough of that sort of thing in our line of work." Suddenly loud buzzing sounds erupted from several of the panels.

Technicians quickly ripped off their earphones. The CIA man on the view-screen turned to snow then vanished. "Captain, those Chinese warships are jamming us. We've lost all com with the outside world." Communications Chief Kasim said. "Damn!" he shouted while pounding a table. "They even shut down internal com." Linc and the captain looked at each other. They knew the two Chinese warships must be dangerously close.

The captain had two dives below and out of communication. He had another crew member Gale Turned outside being tossed to and fro by an increasingly dangerous sea and now two Chinese warships were bearing down. Aboard the Oregon helmsman, Eric Stone was in deep concentration trying to keep the huge ship from the coral reefs. Things had gone from bad to worse quickly.

**Chapter 5:**

By Mike3121

With a sudden cut in communication, the divers pondered their next move. A silent decision was made and they simultaneously gave each other a thumbs up and decided to enter the building. The airlock was spacious with directions in Chinese. Gary only knew English and Travis could speak a passable French, a so-so Pashto and a less than so-so Arabic. Though the directions were in Chinese there were helpful little figures to show the divers what was to be done. When the water was drained a light came on. Both men proceeded to clip their flippers to a snap link on their weight belt. The inner door was open with an accompanying whoosh of air.

The building now came alive. All the lights came on and a mechanical whir of an electric motor starting up could be heard. Everything was painted white and looked and smelled new. Travis felt it was a darn nice place to work and it had a fantastic view. Too bad, he thought, this whole setup was to deal out mass death and destruction. Looking about Travis caught something not quite right. His SEAL training taught him to look for things out of place; something not quite right.

He didn't like the look of one-floor tile directly in front of him, near the airlock. It was raised slightly from the others. Gary was about to step forward when Travis stopped him. Gary gave him a dirty look and said with an aggressive snarl, "What the hell!" Travis thought "God, of all the divers I get paired up with I get this one." He then pointed out to Gary the raised tile and how suspicious it looked. Travis then bent down and examined it. "Yes," he murmured to himself, "it's a pressure plate." On each corner were small holes in the grout. Travis looked about and noticed a bright red square plastic milk carton. On all four corners of the carton were 4 small pins. Carefully he lowered the carton over the tile and into the matching holes. This created a cage over the booby-trapped tile. Inhabitants of the chamber would not have to worry about accidentally setting off the charge once the plastic carton was in place. With the milk carton secured they were free to look about and take pictures.

Meanwhile, on the surface, Gale was being tossed about like a WWE wrestler. More than once the Zodiac slammed hard into the side of the ship. She couldn't take much more of this. Even the huge Oregon with both aft and stern anchors out began to roll slightly with the waves. Worse yet she'd lost her walkie to the turbulent sea.

Unaware of the rising violence on the surface of the ocean Travis and Gary went about their duties in a slow methodical manner. There was a two drawer filing cabinet with important-looking papers, several lab tops, and several zip drives. One item caught Gary's attention. It looked to be a launch book with daily launch codes. They were afraid, and rightly so, to tamper with the computers which had also come alive and now displaying default screen savers. No doubt they were password-protected; perhaps even booby-trapped. With a hiss of static local communication was restored. The captain's voice range was loud and clear. "Get out, get out NOW! Take anything you can grab." Travis shouted a quick, "Aye sir," in reply.

"Hey, the escape pod." Exclaimed Gary. "Yes, brilliant," Travis replied. Anything that couldn't be nailed down was gathered and placed at the foot of the ladder leading to the pod. Travis found several large black trash bags and stuffed the items they'd collected into them. With a strong pull of a red rubber-coated handle, the escape pod was opened. It had a double hatch arrangement, the escape pod was connected to a hatch on the roof of the building. To open one was to open the other and likewise to close one was to close the other. This arrangement was so the launch center wouldn't flood when the escape pod was engaged. In only took a few minutes to load there plastic bags full of papers and lab tops. The two divers removed their cumbersome re-breathers and strapped themselves in. With the pull of a bright red lever, they detach themselves from the building.

They felt the momentum, going faster and faster by the second. Their assent was uncontrolled. Travis had a sudden fear the escape pod would slam hard into the bottom of the Oregon. There was another fear of Caisson's disease or the bends. With such a rapid ascent they'd have to spend an hour or two in the ships decompression chamber. Looking at the escape pod's levers and controls Travis deduced that the escape pod would double as a decompression chamber.

Gale almost jumped out of her skin when a large metallic sand-colored object emerged behind her. "What the hell is that?" she murmured. She quickly deduced it to be an escape pod. With no communication possible she paddled towards it. There was no need for it came to her. It came on too fast and slammed hard into her Zodiac almost knocking her out of the raft. Thinking quickly she tied a line to it as the pod had several handholds welded to its surface.

"This is crazy," she shouted into the wind and electric started the 55 hp, Mercury. It was a strain but the Zodiac began to pull the heavy escape pod to the rear of the ship where, hopefully, Gale thought, the ramp was still down. She had over 300 feet plus to go and the wild ocean was not helping her. It was a terrifying trip, all alone with no communication, in a violent sea with the huge cold slab sides of the Oregon looming above her. At last, she rounded the stern. "Yes!" she screamed. The ramp was down. Several men were ready with tow cables to take her and the escape pod aboard.

"Weigh anchors ASAP!" Shouted the captain. "Get us the hell out'ta here Mr. Slone." Helmsman Sloan needed no prodding. Charts and been previously consulted and several possible courses laid out. They couldn't go out the way they came it; Chinese warships lurked towards the east. Their only hope now lay in navigating through a twisting underwater maze of coral reefs and shallow bays, escaping towards the west.

The Geodetic charts were over 12 years old and The Shallows was well off the shipping lanes and far to sea. Neither sports fisherman, treasure hunters or anyone else dared to approach the area. Detailed underwater maps of the Shallows was a low priority. Night had come which made navigation even that more difficult. There was one advantage, Captain Cabrillo doubted the Chinese warships would risk entering the shallows. They would have to go around and catch the Oregon as it emerged on the western side.

Mark was off duty and was supposed to be sleeping. Who could sleep with the ship tossing and turning? Besides, there was excitement in the air. He sat in the spacious but near-empty dining room nursing a steaming cup of coffee. He usually drank it using a ceramic cup however the violent weather necessitated using a Styrofoam cup and plastic lid otherwise he'd soon have hot coffee tossed all over the place. He held a half-eaten ham and cheese.

There were a few off duty people about, mostly asleep in padded chairs positioned against the bulkheads. Just across from him were two technicians, a male and female, asleep at each end of a sofa. Trying to sleep in a bunk in this weather was virtually impossible. After his coffee and sandwich, Mark had planned on finding a vacant chair for himself, perhaps in the ship's theater or library. Mark's thoughts were interrupted with loud talking in the hallway.

A dozen or more commando types entered the dining room. They were all in good spirits cheering one of their own – Gale. She was the hero of the day, bravely staying in position despite the violence of the

ocean. She'd even managed to tow the escape pod and two of their companions to safety. Gale was dwarfed by her muscular companions. Two of them got the bright idea of carrying Gale in their arms into the dining room. They placed her at the head of a long table and began slapping her on the back and con-graduating her. There was a competition of sorts as to which one could get her a coffee and something to eat first. Mark felt small and insignificant. How could he, a mere mortal, win the heart of a warrior goddess-like Gale. Feeling defeated he slunk from the room.

Carefully the Oregon wound its way among the coral reefs. Meanwhile, the collected data had been scanned and coded for transmission. Then they got a break, the jamming ceased. Who knew for sure how long this would last. They code burst the whole intelligence package with one compressed burst. Langley acknowledged the data received. Seconds later the Oregon was again subjected to jamming. It was like someone on the Chinese ship was sidetracked for a moment. In a storm like this, a destroyed and especially frigate would be tossed about like toys.

Linc looked out into the darkness. What little he could discern was horrifying. "Open sea ahead," called out Helmsman Slone. "From the frying pan into the fire," Captain Cabrillo said to Linc. Meaning they'd escaped the deadly Shallows and were not at the none to tender mercies of a hurricane tossed sea. Though the captain loved his high tech ship it often removed him from the feeling of the sea. Wind in the face, sea spray, man against nature – all of that. In the modern age, it seemed more like man against machine.

In the dark of a long night, Mark lay slumped in a plush chair sound asleep. In a dream he saw her, Gale, wearing a fetching bikini. She lay on a blanket, relaxed with an exotic drink. Gale was on the warm white sand of some faraway tropical beach. She turned to face him. "Mark, Mark, GET UP!" "Huh," he said in a stupor. His eyes quickly focused on a fellow deckhand. His name was Norton or something like that, Mark didn't know him as they were on different watches. Most of the crew being former military some habits carried over. One habit was calling everyone by their last name, another was referring to someone by their former rank. "Master Chief needs us, emergency. Come on hurry." They momentarily stopped at an equipment locker to pick up foul weather gear and life vests. Silently they dressed and emerged out into the passageway.

"I'm supposed to be off duty. What the hell is this emergency?" Mark said while being thrown from bulkhead to bulkhead by the movement of the ship. Norton never bothered to reply but made his way forward, towards the bow followed by Mark. They both arrived at a hatchway opening onto the open deck. The Master Chief was there along with another deck crew member. He was so bundled up in his foul weather gear Mark couldn't identify him.

This was crazy, Mark thought. During a storm, you never open a hatchway to the oncoming sea, against the wind. Master Chief Saunders knew what the young deckhands were thinking. "Got'ta go out this way. Blocked on the..." the rest of his sentence was knocked from him by a sudden lurch of the ship. With great effort, the Master Chief and Mark managed to force open the hatchway. What he saw was the most terrifying sight he could have imagined.

**Chapter 6:**

By Mike3121

It was pitch black save for the floodlights; what few that were still working. The Oregon, a large powerful ship dived into the oncoming wave. The wave was huge and just lurking out sight in the darkness. Gradually it became visible, illuminated by the floodlights. To Mark, it was like a monster emerging from a fog. Onward it marched, sweeping across the open deck with its peak hidden in the darkness. Seconds later Mark and his companions were waists deep in turbulent water. Then the mighty ship began to rise, shaking off the seawater. Once again it prepared for another dive into a massive roller. The rain was driven by 200 mph plus winds stung like bullets. They came at them horizontally in a liquid torrent. Few sailors live to see unbridled nature in all its fury.

The noise was deafening which made verbal communication impossible so hand signals were used. The Master Chief pointed towards the right or starboard. What Mark saw was a mass of twisted metal. Twin booms, used during the loading and unloading of cargo were usually stored against the ship's superstructure. The raging sea ripped them from their moorings and crushed and twisted them into a heap of scrap metal. Also included in the twisted mess was an equipment locker and a large winch. There might have been more items but neither Mark or the Master Chief was in a mood to take inventory.

The forward main deck had one "real" telescoping crane mounted on rails and two "fake" cranes. The fake cranes looked darn realistic. One even had an old weathered sign in several languages saying "out of service," to give the ship that old decrepit look. Even from 10 feet away they looked like the real thing. One of these, the most forward one, had been swept clear off the deck and left only its mounting bolts protruded from the deck's plating. "No loss," thought Mark briefly.

Mark quickly turned his attention to the dire situation at hand, a twisted mass of steel. This mass, several tons, was a threat to the ships integrity and had to be quickly jettisoned overboard. Mark knew right away why he'd been summoned; he was a qualified welder and this wreckage had to be cut away from the ship. The other two deckhands were directed to stay inside by the hatchway encase they were needed.

A succession of massive waves had knocked out a good portion of the floodlights. Though there were a few left only one was left to illuminate the wreckage. If it blinked out they were sunk, perhaps literally. Along the superstructure's base was a handrail. Mark held on for dear life and inched his way towards an undamaged equipment locker. He opened it and selected a cutting torch, chained on to a two-wheeled hand cart. With one hand on the rail and another on the cart, he inched back towards the wreck.

When the booms came down they took out about 30 feet of the railing so to slip and fall might mean you'd slide right into the churning sea. This was not a pleasant thought for Mark at that moment. The Master Chief, oblivious to the danger made his way into the wreckage and dangerously close to the ship's edge. Through the driving rain, he motioned Mark over and made cutting motions. Dragging the hand cart against the driving wind and rain Mark complied.

With a dark abyss just over the side of the ship, Mark began to cut away at the tangled metal. For what seemed like an eternity Mark would follow the Master Chief and cut where directed. Sometimes Mark did some cutting while underwater when a huge wave completely engulfed them. There was one final cut. Much to Mark and the Master Chief's surprise the mass of metal did nothing. It just sat there. Mark kicked it a few time more out of frustration than anything else. After one huge roller, the mass of metal began to move, then in a horrific screech of metal against metal, it slid overboard.

Carefully, hand over hand, Mark and the Chief worked their way back to the hatchway. The sea seemed particularly furious for a huge wave, much more massive than the rest, crested over the ship. Mark was completely submerged and thought his lungs would burst for lack of air. After the wave left them Mark and the Chief watched as the welding cart, on its small wheels rolled across the slick deck and into the sea. Minutes later they were safely inside. Neither the Chief or Mark had the energy to talk. They just moved like tired zombies, removing their gear and heading for the dining room.

In the operations center, there was much elation over shedding the ship of the wreckage. "We can't take much more of this," Captain Cabrillo shouted when the ship took another nose dive into an oncoming wave. "Here, come here," Linc said while motioning the captain over. Linc was intently looking over a map. He pointed to what seemed a mere speck. "Pinnacle Island," he stated, "It's got a small bay. Looks to be a good place to hold up." To the captain, it looked more like a dirt smudge than a safe harbor. "That's all we got. Get Stone on it right away. Probably a couple of hours away." Captain Cabrillo said in a resigned voice.

On through the storm-ravaged night, the Oregon trudged. Winds were clocked at 205 mph. Hurricane Dennis, as it was officially called, was now a full-blown Cat 5. At last, they reached the safety of a small harbor. The island itself was not much bigger than the Oregon. The main feature of this black hunk of lave thrust from the ocean's depth during some past volcanic age was it's tall windswept heights. It was a pinnacle, somehow half a dozen trees were clinging to life on its storm-ravaged craggy surface.

The Oregon dropped fore and aft anchors and nestle in behind the island's heights, letting the island take the full brunt of the wind and waves.

Nothing much happened during the night except Langley called in and related they'd lost contact with the Chinese frigate. Probably sunk in the storm Captain Cabrillo surmised. The Oregon's crew were relieved to be out of the tossing sea. Morning brought tranquility and even a bit of sunshine. The storm had not subsided but moved on.

Mark sat in the now crowded dining room. Most everyone was their, famished after a long violent night. He was pleasantly surprised to find Gale coming over to sit down next to him. The food was hot, the company great. A thoughtful someone in operations put on Greig's "Morning" over the PA. Some members of the crew even ventured out onto the open deck.

Captain Cabrillo, Linc, and Mark Murphy, Chief Weapons Specialist, rode the elevator up to the old fake bridge. It was appointed with all the usual things you might find on an old overused bulk carrier. Nothing up there worked, it was just for show when in port. There was broken glass all over the deck as several of the bridges windows had been blown out during the storm. The three, exhausted from the night's struggle, looked out onto the open deck. There were about a dozen of the crew from technicians, deckhands to commando are all enjoying the peace and tranquility of the morning.

Suddenly there was a massive explosion. The pinnacle exploded in an ear-shattering blast. The ship shuddered, lights blinked out then back on. Huge chunks of volcanic cinders rained down onto the open deck. Those on the deck were knocked down like bowling pins. Captain Cabrillo and his companions were also knocked down like bowling pins.

"Oh my God!" Captain Cabrillo shouted, "Cruse missile," Linc added while staggering to his feet. "Raise fore and aft anchors, back us out of here Mr. Stone," the chairman yelled into his walkie. Mark and Gale were making small talk while seated in the dining room. There was a huge blast, the lights blinked off then on. "What the hell was that," Mark said. Gale added almost in a whisper, "nothing good."

The soothing music stopped then the speakers blared at full volume. "ALL AVAILABLE DECK HANDS FORWARD TO MAIN DECK. EMERGENCY MEDICAL TEAM FORWARD TO MAIN DECK!" Mark gave Gale a quick nod and ran towards the ship's bow. There were several others already crowding the companionway. Once out on the deck, he saw heavy smoke lingering where the pinnacle of the island once stood. The deck was littered with large chunks of volcanic rock and fallen crew members. While helping the wounded as best he could until the medical team arrived Mark could feel the Oregon backing from the island. He never could believe a huge ship such as this could move so fast. In no time at all the island receded into the horizon.

"What's the situation on the wounded?" The captain asked of Linc. "6 with moderate wounds, two maybe pierced eardrums, and 2 with serious lacerations and pierced eardrums." Captain Cabrillo was worried, very worried. They were now out in the open sea with nowhere to hide. The Chinese destroyer captain was relentless. Also, he was probably wanting revenge for the loss of the frigate and over 200 sailors, perhaps some were his friends. This captain had his orders, hunt down and destroy them all.

"Anything, anything at all?" asked Captain Cabrillo, almost begging his operations staff. There was fear in everyone's eyes for any second another ship-to-ship missile might slam into them, obliterating the Oregon. "Well," said one of the staff looking at the radar screen. "Looks like a squall line forming not more than 15 minutes away." "Okay," shouted the captain, "Make for that. I know, I know, radar can see right through it but it's something." He added hopefully. The Oregon made an abrupt turn and aimed directly for the squall line.

From a distance, it looked like your typical line of clouds so low they touch the ocean's surface. Ocean squalls were a lot of rain and not much wind. As they got closer it looked like it had a blue-green tint to it. Finally upon entering the cloud bank much to their surprise – no rain? One crew member managed a "WTF." Everyone felt an electrical charge in the air; like static electricity with the accompanying smell of ozone. Most of the instruments, especially the compass began to act strange. The compass just spun in a circle. Sonar and radar ceased to function, then all communication with the outside world ceased. No GPS, internet, nothing. Finally, the MHD drive went offline and the ship glided silently on momentum through the strange cloud bank. At last, they reached the other side. Little did they know what "the other side," really was.

**Chapter 7:**

By Mike3121

Silently the Oregon glided along in the calm sea. At last, it came to a full stop. The operations staff looked at one another when suddenly there was a buzz, computers came back online, the MHD started up and the ship began forward momentum. A technician began reading off systems that were back and working, "Radar working, sonar online, ships electrical online, the list went on and on." There were two curious omissions from the list, no GPS and no internet, both were essential for the ships safe operation. Though they had the radio up and running there was no chatter on the usual frequencies. Communications with Langley was completely down.

"No Chinese warship on the radar," stated a technician in a boring mechanical voice that technicians are famous for. The Captain and his staff were glad to hear that. "Wow, look at that," the sonar technician said looking at her scope. "There's a huge school of fish just below us, I've never seen one so large. You'd think there would be a dozen fishing boats following them."

Mr. Stone relinquished the ship's control to his watch replacement. A course was set for slow speed, south. Helmsman Stone was exhausted from the struggle he had been through. An hour after tense hour nursing the ship through jagged reefs, violent hurricane and a Chinese destroyer bent on sinking them. He slumped into a nearby chair and probably would have gone to sleep right then and there except for Linc's discovery.

Linc kept looking at a chart, then looked at a computer monitor showing positioning data. He had a very puzzled look on his face. "I don't know how it happened but we're of course. I think we're 800 miles from where we should be." Stone, despite his exhaustion, sat upright in his chair. Linc continued, "Originally we were north of Aruba now we're just off French Guiana. Things like this don't happen in a sane world." The data was checked and rechecked. "This is nuts," said the captain completely perplexed.

Captain Cabrillo stepped into the com shack. It was far from a shack. The Com Center was a spacious modern communication office run at top efficiency by Hali Kasim. "Got anything?" the captain asked his com chief. Hali had his back to Captain Cabrillo and spun around on his swivel chair. "Some chatter but nothing definite yet." "Keep at it," the captain said, "Remember we're still the Wexford, British registry. Broadcast a general message requesting information. Broadcast on any frequency that'll listen. No mayday calls we aren't in that kind'a trouble yet – yet. Oh yes get a deckhand to run up a new Union Jack as the previous one was ripped to shreds by the storm," Captain Cabrillo said stepping back into the companionway.

Moving like a Zombie from "Zombie Town" the captain, in a sleepy daze, stumbled towards his quarters. He had opened the door when a crew member caught up with him and handed him a work order to sign. It was a list of items damaged from the storm and needing immediate repair. Nothing major he noted except for one of the hydrogen generators was knocked off its mount.

Several hours later Captain Cabrillo was woken up by a tense faced Hali Kasim. "We got trouble. Big trouble," he said through clenched teeth. The captain, still half awake mumbled, "Not that Chinese destroyed." Hali shook his head, "I wish it were." Now fully awake he followed Hali to the communications center. All the staff had worried and frightened looks on their faces.

"There's been several strange commercial radio broadcasts. Then this last message from a US Navy station in Florida." The Com chief handed a slip of paper with the message typed out from a laser-jet printer. "Are you people crazy about broadcasting in the clear. Cease all in the clear messages immediately or you will get a torpedo down your throat." It was date stamped April 23rd, 1943. "This has got to be a fake, a joke, this is plain crazy." Captain Cabrillo said in shock. He looked around and all he saw was fear.

"Do you mean to tell me we're back in 1943. We've been broadcasting in the clear messages as a British registered ship. Oh God! Oh hell. Every Nazi sub will in the whole South Atlantic be looking for us." Captain Cabrillo looked at Hali and opened his mouth to speak. "Already done sir, we stopped broadcasting over 20 minutes ago, though the damage is probably done." Still clutching the message the captain made his way quickly to the Operations Center. "Call a meeting for the whole crew excepting those on repair duty or ship operations. And somebody pulls that Union Jack down" The captain stated firmly.

Mark Dietrich was out on the main forward deck welding a makeshift railing into place. There were other deckhands about replacing floodlights and doing general deck maintenance. Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened to the PA system announcing the meeting. An all-crew-meeting was rare and not held unless something really important was involved. The deck workers looked towards the Master Chief. "Get back ta' work. That ain't for us," he said. Operations I'll get around to telling us soon enough."

Gale made her way into the crowded dining room, the only room big enough to handle them all. Two of her companions edged up to her. Her commando buddies treated her more like a little sister except for one, Gary Parker. Gary had his eye on her for some time. He was a likable sort but a way too self-confident and came on too strong for her taste. She was favoring Mark more and more but he was too slow, just the opposite of Gary. She wished he'd just kiss her and get it over with. Thoughts of love, boyfriends and the like were shelved when the captain or chairman to some began to speak.

"Now all of you know I like a good joke. What I'm going to tell you is no joke." He took a breath then began again. "We've managed to shake off that Chinese destroyer." There were several high five's and whoops and hollers over this news. The captain looked around and began anew. "After we went through that rain squall, that wasn't a rain squall, we've seemed to have jumped some 800 miles south.

We should be off Aruba but instead, we're off Devils Island, French Guiana." There was complete silence in the room. Captain Cabrillo let this astounding news settle in. "Also, um," the captain said thoughtfully trying to find the words, "we...um...have jumped back in time to April 1943." Again there was a deafening silence. From somewhere in the crowd came, "Don't you need a Delorean to do that?" The author of that statement was soon "shushed." There were no questions - only silence. Thoughts such as: "Will we ever get back? Is this true or some elaborate hokes? How do we get back and how do we survive?" Gale was as dumbfounded as the rest. She silently slipped out of the room wanting to be alone.

No sooner had Captain Cabrillo and Linc stepped back into Operations when another emergency came up. A radar tech called out loudly in an excited voice. "We got an object headed right towards us at. Um...800...no 1200 mph, altitude 2,000 feet. It will pass us on our starboard."

Operations had told Master Chief Sanders to have his people get a visual on the object about to pass the ship. "Heads up everybody, eyes starboard." The Master Chief called out. Mark looked up from his welding and flipped the welder's helmet face-plate back. What he saw was a bright red blur moving at incredible speed. It seemed to be shaped like a boat. "What the hell was that," he said, except he didn't use the word "hell." Mark's assistant, holding the next bit of railing in place said, "Man there's some weird shit go'en on here." Mark couldn't have agreed more.

Back in Operations, they all watched in wonder as the mysterious object made a dead stop some 50 miles away. It was now at 3,000 feet altitude and to there stern pacing them both in speed and course. There were many "WTF's" from the startled operations staff.

On they traveled licking their wounds from the storm. With their radar and sonar far superior to anything back in 1943 the captain was confident they'd see any danger approaching. The weather held and the sky a deep blue from horizon to horizon.

The captain felt their best course of action was to hug the coast, moving slowly south towards Rio. Also, he told Linc to make sure the smudge pot and engine noise were ready at a moments notice. Captain Cabrillo was in a quandary. They had plenty of food onboard but how could they pay for more. The ships safe was full of money; all useless in 1943. Some of the money was for countries not even countries in 1943.

On they trudged until a radar man indicated a ship to starboard. As they approached it turned out to be nothing but a half-submerged old barge rusting its life away hung up on a sand bar. It was ignored and the Oregon slipped past. "SCREWS, SCREWS!" Shouted the sonar man in panic. A submarine had lain in wait in the shadow of the old barge. The Operations Center is inside the ship, safely behind strong steel plates so "visuals" were made via a myriad of cameras. All eyes looked upon the long sleek form of a fully functional German U-Boat pacing them not more than 500 feet away. As they watched it's gun crew were swinging their deadly high-velocity 88mm deck gun around preparing to fire.

"Mark spool up the mid-Gatling gun and sweep its deck." Captain Cabrillo said, sweat pouring from his brow. There were mere seconds to spare. Seconds later Mark Murphy, Weapons Control Specialist, electronically fired the minigun. One second the gun crew was there the next they were all gone, blown into the sea. Officers upon the conning tower were protected and were no doubt climbing back into the sub and preparing to dive.

Mark Murphy, without command or hesitation, raised a battery of 4 ship-to-ship missiles and locked on the base of the conning tower. The whoosh or a rocket motor igniting was briefly heard. It hit were directed and a relatively small explosion occurred. Seconds later a full detonation ripped the sub to shreds. It was all over in seconds.

The Operations Center was silent. It had all happened so sudden. Everything peaceful than a sudden rush life or death moment. One of the crew ran to throw up. Captain Cabrillo held out his hand flat and watched as it twitched. They were in a very deadly environment and no one from the captain on down could be the least bit complacent.

**Chapter 8: **

By Mike3121

After that brief and violent encounter with the U-boat, the crew of the ship was in a nervous state of apprehension. Everyone was on edge with particular attention to the radar and sonar techs. Lincoln or "Linc" doubled the number of techs available for radar and sonar duty and made sure they only pull half a watch. There were itchy trigger fingers when a harmless Brazilian fishing boat crossed their path some 5 miles away. Meanwhile, the mysterious object stuck to them like glue though 50 miles out.

Captain Cabrillo decided to change the name of their ship to that of a Portuguese registry. They were neutral during World War 2. The Wexford being British and the Oregon Iranian registry with an American name would arouse suspicion, even attack. Painted on the bow and stern was the name "Cristina." There were several Portuguese speakers on board and could be called to "fake it" when the need arose. A Portuguese flag now took place of the Union Jack. However the sub, before its destruction had managed to get off a short coded message. Maybe their cover had been already blown.

Radar indicated two cargo ships just off the mouth of the Amazon river. One it seemed had run aground. The clear sky was beginning to look ominous. There was a brief discussion and it was decided to do the right thing and offer assistance. Carefully the newly christened Cristina approached the two ships. One ship, a large freighter flying a neutral Swedish flag had run hard aground. It was deeply laden indicating a full cargo. Running aground here was understandable for, at the mouths of mighty rivers like the Amazon, sandbars are created and shifted about regularly. Maps based on underwater conditions for one day might not be valid the next.

The lead ship was smaller and low slung with no flag visible. Its name was obscured by old tires acting as bumpers. Neither Linc or the captain liked the look of it. All hands were called to action stations and Mark Murphy and his team were at the ready, prepared to fire. The Oregon had twin 120mm M1A1 Abrams auto-loading high-velocity heavy tank guns on either side of the ship. Both were loaded with armor-piercing HE and could swing out aimed and fired within seconds.

Mark Dietrich and a few other deckhands were instructed to be out on the deck, pretending to work like on a normal ship. Mark could sense the tension in the air; any second something was going to happen. He gravitated towards the port side of the ship away from the danger.

Now both ships were side by side some half-mile apart. It seemed to Linc like High Noon with both gunslingers sizing each other up. Which one would go first. The mysterious ship was a disguised German Raider; this type was often used during the war to some success. There was a loud clang of metal as three heavy side panels were dropped to reveal a deadly array of cannons. Captain Cabrillo screamed "FIRE!" to his weapons chief.

ABS Mark Dietrich gasped when there was a scream of a shell passing overhead; the kinetic power of it knocked him over. Then another, then a third, this one striking the ship. The Oregon reeled from the hit. Just then a loud siren was heard. Mark was part of the damage control team and went below to his station. He was greeted by billows of black smoke and a crowded companionway. Some were desperate to get out and others, like himself, desperate to get to the damage. The further he went in the more seriously wounded people he came across.

Mark Murphy via controls swung the long barrel of the 120 mm out and fired starting at the bow. With a rate of fire of 15 rounds per minute Mark Murphy fired, again and again, walking his rounds from bow to stern. He then directed his HE rounds to just above the waterline. All firing ceased on the German raider. A fire had broken out and secondary explosions began erupting. Suddenly there was a loud fireball amidships, probably ammo storage. The actual destruction and sinking of the ship were now obscured by thick black smoke. As the encounter with the U-Boat, the combat was over within a very short period. When the smoke cleared there was no ship to be seen; not much wreckage even. There was only one lone lifeboat with three German crew members visible. They were holding their hands up in surrender.

Mark had now reached the damaged area. He found the round had passed into the ship and into a small scientific lab. Also, two other cabins were destroyed. One scientific storage and the other crews quarters. These quarters were for some oceanographic scientists from Scripps Institute on board for the voyage. All were killed outright, their bodies were mangled beyond recognition. Probably about 6 killed the Master Chief related to Operations.

Mark had no time to get sick upon seeing the gore - there was a fire roaring. Hoses were hooked up and Mark directed the stream of his hose into the inferno. His face and bare arms were red hot from the flames. Mark's muscles ached from the weight and power of the fire hose. He stayed at his station not flinching. At last, they began to get the upper hand and the fire was out. The whole area was a shambles and the damage control team exhausted. Mark heard a "Make way, make way, for the Captain."

Mark looked about at his six companions. They were filthy dirty and unrecognizable even to each other. The captain and Operations Officer Franklin Lincoln carefully walked among them. Captain Cabrillo congratulated Mark's team for saving the ship. Unbeknownst to Mark and his team they had been at it for over two hours. A new team, all fresh and ready to work, was ushered in to take their place, not Mark though. He was needed elsewhere.

Almost all crew members could speak another language, usually several. The trouble was that these languages corresponded to the trouble spots of the world. Arabic, Pashto, Farsi and the like. Of the crew, there were only two German speakers, Mark and Gunther Reinholt Propulsion Engineer. Reinholt was desperately needed in engineering to get one of the hydrogen generators back online. Mark was directed to Operations. He immediately felt very conspicuous as being blackened from head to toe yet everyone else was in spotless clothing with nary a hair out of place. Seeing Mark they greeted him like a hero. Mark was a reserved young man and shied away from such notoriety.

During the time while Mark and his team had been fighting the fire much had happened. The Oregon was now alongside the grounded freighter, The Sillen. The Oregon's working cranes were busy transferring the grounded ship's cargo into their hold. "The spoils of war," Captain Cabrillo stated.

Onboard were tons and tons of canned food, a large cold storage locker full of meat, vegetable, potatoes and much more. Also being loaded were a dozen crated and brand new BMW motorcycles, weapons of all sort and ammunition to go with them. Even two new and crated Bf 109 Messerschmidt with 2 new spare engines. Most aforementioned items had already been loaded.

The captain gave Mark a short bit of time to clean up and put on a new set of clothes. Next Mark, the Captain, and Linc were transferred aboard the Sillen via a crane bucket. There were a large number of the Oregon's crew about, some assisting with the unloading and others acting as security. The trio went below decks and into a cabin. Mark noted that the Oregon had fake dirt and grim but this ship had the real thing. It was a very ugly and depressing ship both above and below decks. In the small cabin was the Captain of the Sillen and his First Officer, two beefy men from the Oregon with automatic weapons and an SS officer sitting on his bed with his hands bound with FlexiCuffs. The officer held the rank of Oberstrumbannfuhrer an SS field rank.

He was immaculately dressed and sitting upright not moving or talking. The Captain of the Sillen and First Officer were both hard-bitten being muscular, tanned and dirty. There were numerous scars on their unshaven faces no doubt from many a barroom brawl. Their eyes were blue and piercing. They looked at their American captors with disgust and anger. However, the stair they gave the SS Officer was pure hatred. The SS man looked to be an overbearing pompous ass. He was of average height, about 30 years old and had a soft, rounded look about him. He sported a Charlie Chaplin type mustache mimicking that of his beloved Fuhrer. No doubt he threw his weight around with the German Raider acting as his protector. It was now at the bottom of the sea. He refused to talk and ignored Marks attempts at communication in German. His eyes opened wide when one of the guards opened one of 5 large suitcases.

One held the SS man's personal effects, the second a thick stack of serious-looking documents. The last three held money, and a lot of it. All in bills of large denominations, mostly British and American. There were a smattering of various South American denominations as well. The Captain of the Sillen protested and said in perfect German it all belonged to him. At that point, the SS Officer blurted out it belonged to the Third Reich. Mark laughed and told both of them to go to hell. Mark noticed a wooden box sticking out from under the bed. The SS-man was trying to hide it with his feet.

Mark retrieved it and placed it on the bed. The SS Officer was furious and his pale face grew red with anger. It was a beautifully finished wood box with gold hinges. In the center of the box, which measured about a foot and a half by a foot and half, was an embossed gold German eagle and swastika.

Upon opening it Mark gasped. It contained a pearl-handled gold plated Luger with two chrome clips. It was nestled in a deep purple satin cloth. With great reluctance, Mark handed it towards Captain Cabrillo. He shook his head, "It's yours. A bit too ostentatious for me." This was an incredibly valuable find and for the Captain to insist Mark have it was overwhelming. He couldn't wait to show it to Gale.

Captain Cabrillo and his crew collected the 4 suitcases and prepared to leave. "Tell the Captain he can have this German to do with as he pleases – after we've left." Mark relayed this to the freighter captain. His blue eyes hardened when he looked at the German SS Officer. Captain Cabrillo then took out two stacks of British 100 pound notes and tossed them on the bed. "Relay this to the Captain of the Sillen."

Mark translated the message. It was that the Sillen crew had better put some distance between them and the Germans. They would be none too pleased with losing a valuable cargo of supplies and weapons. They will hunt you down and kill all of you. Make for Rio and sell the ship for what you can get then scatter to the four winds. The grizzled captain nodded in understanding.

Captain Cabrillo along with Linc escorted Mark towards the ship's mess where the balance of the crew of the freighter was gathered. While proceeding there Captain Cabrillo received a message that astounded him. It seems that the last items to be loaded aboard the Oregon from the freighter were 19 large pallets of gold bars. All recently recast and embossed with the German eagle and swastika. That's a huge fortune. My God!" Linc said in shock.

At last, they reached the ship's mess. There were some 30 or more of the crew of the freighter gathered there. They were a dangerous-looking bunch and probably one notch away from pirates. All were muscular, dirty and sullen. There were six heavily armed commandos from the Oregon guarding them; automatic weapons leveled.

Sitting on chairs and separate from the rest were 4 Germans. Three wore civilian clothes and had that scientist or nerd look about them. Two were men and one a woman. She was average in looks wearing a long skirt with her hair braided. Thick plastic-framed glasses gave her an even more of a bookworm look. The men were pale and unremarkable. The fourth person was also a female. She was in the uniform of an Oberleutnant or Lieutenant in the Medical Corps. She was quite cute and knew it. Her hair reddish-brown was also braided, she had a nice clear face. She even had freckles. Most of the swarthy freighter's crew were seriously looking her over.

One look at the crew and Captain Cabrillo indicated these people were to be brought aboard the Oregon. Suddenly one of the crew stepped out from the rest and pulled a Luger from his pocket. He went to aim it at the scientists. Luckily one of the guards was fully alert and put a short burst into him that sent him flying. Approaching the body of the crew member kicked the pistol away so no one else got a bright idea. The guard then bent down and looked man's pockets. "Gestapo," Said the guard, holding up an identity book.

The three scientists were quite shaken and well aware of what the term Gestapo meant. One of the crew, speaking in Spanish, informed the captain that the dead man was not a regular member of the crew but came aboard in Bremen. Mark was instructed to grill the scientist. Why was it so essential that they are killed, even at the risk of the assassins own life. They hemmed and hawed trying to avoid the issue. Finally one of the men mentioned atoms. "You're building an atomic bomb. You're splitting the atom." Mark stated. The scientist's eyes opened wide. How did this lowly American deckhand know about this? Captain Cabrillo via Mark's translating grilled them for more answers. They eventually spilled everything, why hold back, it seemed the Americans knew it all anyway. Down a dredged tributary of the Amazon was a secret German base where two atomic bombs were being constructed.

**Chapter 9:**

By Mike3121

Slowly the Oregon, now christened the Cristina, moved away from the Sillen. The Sillen's valuable cargo now nestled safely in the Oregon's hold. Captain Cabrillo and Linc leaned against a railing and watched as the Sillen, now empty, slowly extracted itself from the sand bar. With a churning of mud and bubbles, it pulled free. "Linc, can you bring me up to date on the status of our ship." The Captain asked knowing it would not be all good.

"We've got 6 German sailors in our infirmary. They were picked up out of the water with shrapnel and burns after their ship went down. Three others, unhurt, are under guard and in an unused storage room. The two male scientists are in with the sailors. We've got the lone female scientist separate from the rest in a small storage area, also under guard. That cute German medical doctor is helping out with the wounded – doing a good job by the way. I guess she's totally blown away by all our advanced medical knowledge and equipment. We've got two of our people still in the infirmary with laceration from when Pinnacle Island exploded." Captain Cabrillo sighed. After all the recent happenings it seemed the Pinnacle Island business was ages ago. Linc continued, "We lost 6 scientists, all torn to shreds by a round from the raider. And we have 8 of our crew in the infirmary with wounds ranging from concussion to shrapnel. No one is in critical condition. However, Julia (Julia Huxley Medical Officer) is working her tail off. Aside from the German Lieutenant, she's got two former Special Forces Combat Medics assisting her. Medical supplies are getting spread pretty thin."

Linc took a breath then continued. "The ship's not in bad shape despite a hole in the side – which is being patched as we speak. Three rooms that were hit are a shambles and need a total rebuild in port. Propulsion, de-saltation and hydrogen generators still functioning perfectly. If it weren't for Mark Murphy quickly punching holes in that Nazi ship we'd be on the bottom." Captain Cabrillo then asked about the documents they'd found.

Linc then stated, "I got Gunther Reinholt Propulsion Engineer and Deck Hand Mark Dietrich going over them in an unused conference room, you know the one right off Operations." The Captain stated he'd like to check on what they'd found.

Seaman Mark Dietrich was overwhelmed with his sudden importance. It was enough excitement to be out on an open deck torching lose tons of crushed metal in a Cat 5 hurricane, then fighting a raging inferno on board, now he and Gunther Reinholt were carefully examining top-secret Nazi documents.

They had the documents spread out on a long highly polished conference table.

There were four stacks, one, the tallest, documented they hadn't seen yet. Stack two was obvious junk such as a promotions list, a new directive on office procedure and other administrative matters. Mark and Gunther had noted that the German bureaucracy could hold it's own against the most byzantine bureaucracies in the world. Stack three was "let's have a second look" or coded messages. Stack four dealt with nuclear issues and other top-secret matters. Both men took turns reading each others document to not miss anything. Notes were kept on the most pertinent items.

The Captain and Linc came in the room and wanted an update. Gunther, the ranking man, began reading from his notes. Though thoroughly Americanized he still spoke with a hint of his native German. "They have a large military base here," pointing to a map taped to a dry erase board. "It's guarded by two companies of Waffen SS, Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler Division. Formerly of the Eastern Front. Some nasty folks," He added. "They have a staff of scientists, engineers, and technicians plus support cadre. It's a mini Manhattan Project to develop an A-Bomb. It seems Hitler wasn't so keen on this but didn't stand in the way of the project. Yes," he added. "They have one fully armed A-Bomb and another lacking installation of the triggers." Chairman Cabrillo made an audible, Gulp and asked, "What are the targets?"

"London, up the Thames via a barge and New York Harbor in an old freighter. The bombs are to be on a 6-hour trigger to allow the crews to escape. Two Nazi fanatics are to stay with the bomb to make sure it detonates. Our late SS Officer on the Sillen was to be one. The Sillen was to transport it to New York harbor." There was a prolonged silence in the room. "Well the Sillen won't be doing that will it!" Linc said.

"Also," Mark said, "getting their attention. "They've damned the river some miles upstream and have installed a small hydroelectric unit to generate electricity. Another thing they have a sub pen with berths for 5 U-Boats and an airfield under construction somewhere near the base. According to these documents, two U-Boats are down for maintenance and the rest out to sea. And...um.. there's a couple of E-Boats patrolling the river." The Chairman and Linc then went into Operations to look at a chart of the area.

The Oregon relied heavily on the internet and didn't have a huge onboard database. Often detailed maps were printed via a high-speed dot-matrix drafting type printer. The map library contained many detailed maps of the usual hot spots of the world; the Straights of Hormuz, 38th Parallel and other such locations. The only map of the Amazon and it's tributaries was not at a fine resolution and 10 years old. Linc and the Captain found a vacant flat surface and looked it over. Suddenly they both noticed it.

There was an unnatural man-made look about the area. Right where the base was supposed to be was a lake, some 20 miles in diameter. The shape of the lake was unnatural in that it was a perfect circle. One of the techs, a Dan Martin, a talkative lad with too much bright red hair and a large almost comical red mustache to go with it looked interested. "You want to know about that area?" he said leaning over and looking down at the unfolded map. "Funny ku'z I recently saw something on TV something about that very place. Local natives say it's cursed. Ghosts or something. A PBS special I think," he said thoughtfully. "Won't even fish there for some reason."

Linc and the Captain were shaken. They were looking at an old nuclear detonation site. Captain Cabrillo had read how scientists were amazed at how fast nature rebounded, reclaiming her own at the Bikini Atoll nuke test site. Their thoughts were interrupted when Gunther hailed them in the companionway. "We got something else. They got a real secret base somewhere far inland, high in the Andes, near the border with Peru where they discovered something astounding. "Will change the course of human history" or some such Nazi claptrap. It doesn't show where or what it is but Hitler himself is very interested."

Linc and the Captain went back out on the deck, both deep in thought. What to do? A nuke was to be detonated thus saving millions of lives. Maybe they caused it to detonate. Maybe it would happen anyway without there intervention. Maybe...a decision had to be made. With the weight of command weighing heavily on his shoulders the Captain made a decision – they were going in.

They found a few uninhabited islands near the mouth of the Amazon as a temporary refuge. It offered a safe secure area to plot and plan their assault. Mark once again found himself at the forefront of the operation. Because of his language skills, he would be on the mission. Mark was given a full kit of combat gear. One thing that the Captain insisted on was every member of the crew be weapons qualified; be they clerk, cook or technician, they had to do their share of range fire. It was inevitable that between missions Mark and his companions would spend long hours at a rifle range. Many a night he went to bed with the megaphone sound of the range officer shouting commands, "Ready on the left, the left is ready. Ready on the right, the right is ready. Fires watch your lane." Night fire was also included. Repelling, hand-to-hand and other commando tactics were covered as well. Mark often felt more like an infantryman than a sailor.

The operational staff of the Oregon wanted to wait for bad weather to initiate the assault. In the meantime, there was much rehearsing of basic commando techniques, enter and exiting the Zodiac's, communications and a myriad of other related items. Gale was surprised to see Mark dressed head to toe as one of them.

One thing the staff needed was a layout of the base and approaches. Early one morning a UAV was launched from the stern of the Oregon. Captain Cabrillo had instructed the pilot to fly the same route they would take and make two passes over the base. The whole flight would be recorded and studied. Though the UAV would alert the Germans the Operations Staff felt it was necessary – they dare not go in blind.

Both Linc and the Captain watched over the shoulder of the UAV pilot as he operated a joystick and slider. The small plane made a high pitched buzzing as its tiny motor rose high in the tropical clear blue sky. What they saw first was the wide mouth of the Amazon. Then, not far it was a tributary to the left which had darker colored water indicating recent dredging and not the usual mud brown of the rest of the river. On it flew getting narrower and narrower by the minute. Chairman Cabrillo counted 5 bends. Then he spotted an off branch, also with deep water. This was no doubt the turn around point for the supply ships.

Their next sight was a concrete sub pen with all its doors open. Two subs were at berth with no one about. People tended to get up later in tropical climates Linc surmised. Next, they saw it, the base. First were pilings and a long wooden dock. The dock was long enough to even accommodate the Oregon. There were a 50-foot bank and six or more sets of steps leading to the base itself. Also present was a diesel crane to offload cargo then swing it to the base above. About a dozen Waffen SS guards were looking up at the UAV and pointing. At last, the base came into view. The UAV operator circled the base twice as directed but flew off towards the jungle when he noticed a few of the guards un-slinging their MP 40 machine guns.

The UAV showed the base laid out in normal military fashion with 5 wooden barracks, an administrative building, dining facility, and a nice SS touch of a slave labor internment area. There, in the center of the camp was a large cement blockhouse. There were many smaller lesser buildings and a POL area for fuel.

The UAV pilot was instructed to try to fly it back to the ship via a different route. On it flew over a lush tropical jungle then it began to sputter, running out of gas. There was a sudden dip then silence as it lost power. A minute later the triple canopy jungle grew larger. The last transmitted image was that of a huge leaf then the screen went to fuzz. So died UAV Number 45. The ship had 5 more of them if needed. The Captain instructed Kevin Nixon, Magic Shop Specialist, to construct an accurate as a possible model of the camp. At least they had something to work with now.

The next day the operations staff looked down at a highly detailed model of the camp. There was a serious all night planning session where much coffee was drunk. No idea no matter how bizarre was held back. With the break of dawn, they had a plan of attack, all that was needed was some bad weather. Back at the German camp, three scientists looked up at the UAV with wonder – and hope.

**Chapter 10:**

By Mike3121

The trio of German nuclear scientists had looked up into the early morning sky and seen the small model plane buzzing their camp. Where could it have possibly come from? The base was top secret, many had died or been bribed into silence to keep it that way. Regardless, it would be a hot topic of discussion at breakfast. The three were Dr. Katarina Bauer, a 1.85-meter tall Nordic beauty, Dr. Hanna Lang, neither as tall or as flashy but cute in her way, then there was Dr. Hubert Faber, tall and lanky and educated in America.

The three were plotting their escape. As usual at breakfast, they sat apart from the rest of the scientists and technicians. They had learned from a sympathetic clerk in the commandant's office that the head scientist, Professor Viktor Friedman had signed their arrest papers. They say that there was a fine line between genius and insanity well Professor Friedman had crossed it. He was jealous to the point of madness. Dr. Bauer had proved him wrong on many occasions so she, and her friends, (guilt by association), must die. Soon the Sillen and the raider The Manheim were due in port. They knew their arrest and transportation to Germany would soon follow. The trial, what trial, they would be summarily executed. They glanced towards the mad professor having breakfast with the brutal Major Eggers. The professor nodded in their direction and gave them an insipid smile.

The professor and Major had their little joke. "Ha, look at them. They think they can escape." The professor said smirking. The Major added, "Little do they know the Feldwebel in charge of the boats came to me immediately about their little plot. They will be arrested the minute they try to escape." Both men laughed a mutual laugh at the inept scientists and their pathetic escape plan.

Major Eggers knew he would truly have the last laugh. Top secret orders had come to him straight from the Fuhrer himself. After the bombs were completed and loaded he was to have his men execute everyone on the base, the slave laborers, clerks, scientist, and technicians. The base was then to be destroyed completely, no trace of them ever being there was to be left. He would relish that, executing people was his one true pleasure in life.

Back onboard The Oregon the operations staff noticed dark clouds had finally begun to gather. Soon a tropical storm would inundate them. It was now so dark a daylight raid was even possible. The Chairman and his staff wanted to take advantage of the technological gap and night vision devices fitted prominently in their tactics. Chairman Cabrillo gathered his staff for one last discussion of the mission.

Three teams of 8 people each. Alpha team, headed by himself would free the slaves, attack the nuclear weapons blockhouse and do what damage they could. Bravo team, headed by Larry Thorn, former SEAL and Navy Cross holder, would go for the weapons and ammo bunkers. Charlie team would be in a blocking position to protect the extraction of Alpha and Bravo teams and act as a reserve if need be. Larry King, The Oregon's designated sniper would also be deployed with Charlie Team.

Positioned on the stern of The Oregon would be a tripod-mounted M-240 7.62mm machine gun. A two crewed FGM-148 Fire and Forget Javelin anti-tank launcher. Also positioned on the stern and lifted into position via a flush deck mounted elevator was an Israeli made Soltan 120 mm mortar. This would rake the base with sustained fire before the assault.

Deep inside the Oregon near the stern ramp was Mark Dietrich fitted out as a commando. He hefted his M4 Carbine with PAQ-4 IR site. The sites were to be turned off for this mission, though some of the special weapons team members had permission to use them. Much to his surprise Gale was also assigned to Bravo Team with him. He noted, aside from her M4 Carbine, she carried what looked like a custom re-curve compound bow with an optical sight and laser IR targeting device. Five arrows were already mounted on it for rapid-fire. Over her shoulders were slung an additional array of deadly arrows. For a cute young gal, she sure looked lethal, like something out of a video game. Her skin tight dull black jumpsuit and camouflage painted face added to the image.

The commando's onboard the Oregon had seemed to Mark to be "the glory boys," an elite, separate group that trained and otherwise kept to themselves. They had treated Mark, okay but he knew there was a divide between them. These were, for the most part, Iraq/Afghanistan battle-hardened veterans. Former SEALS, Special Forces, Marine Force Recon and Black Ops. It was a select and tight-knit group, now Mark found himself among them. He was given no special treatment either.

They all steadied themselves as the big ship began to weigh anchor and move. Next, they heard the sound of waves and waves of rain pummeling the ship. It was almost pitch dark inside the ship. Normal lighting was extinguished. It was strange to see 24 men and women (Gale wasn't the only female) decked out in full combat regalia bathed in the eerie glow of red combat lighting. The Zodiacs were inflated and were to be powered by strong Fuzion Electric outboard motors for the sake of silence. No one spoke as the ship began its dangerous journey up the Amazon to the secret German base.

Gale edged over to Mark. Suddenly she grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth. "That's for luck," she said with a wink. Mark was at a loss for words and would have kissed her back except some of the guys around him were snickering and laughing. "Hey, I need luck too," one of the men said softly. Gale gave him a certain international hand gesture and laughed. Except for that bit of levity, there was complete silence. Mark thought that even the battle-hardened commandos around him must feel fear before a mission.

The atmosphere in the Operations Center, bathed in the glow of red combat lighting, was also tense. If anyone spoke it was in hush tones. The blue-green glow from radar and sonar screens cast a strange pall on the faces of the operators. "Captain, that strange object that's been following us just took off out to sea at a tremendous speed." a technician said softly. "Noted," replied Captain Cabrillo. He then turned towards Linc and gave him a crisp military salute. "She's all yours Lincoln. Take good care of her." Linc nodded and returned the salute. The Chairman then made his way to the stern ramp to gear up.

Carefully they wove their way down the Amazon then turned left towards the base. Eric Stone was at the helm, his knuckles white from gripping the ships steering controls. One mistake on his part and it could be a disaster for all. The tension was high, there was always that wild card in the form of the German E-Boats. Much like an American PT boat, they could do some serious damage to the Oregon.

It was like a parachute drop for some. Alpha Team leader Chairman Cabrillo said in a commanding tone, "Alpha team gear up, prepare to launch." Just then there was a huge crash of thunder and flash of lightning. The team in unison picked up their Zodiac. Mark's Team Leader Larry Thorn, a big strapping no-nonsense sort of man, much like Mark's Master Chief said, "Bravo team gear up, prepare to launch.

Mark stepped forward and along with the rest of his team lifted the Zodiac. The Charlie Team followed.

There was sudden movement of the ship. It was turning around and would back in towards the target right up to the last bend in the river closest to the base. Mark's heart was in his throat now, this was the moment. The heavy ramp using near-silent hydraulics began to lower. It would be down for a minimum of time, just to get the teams launched. The full sound and fury of the storm greeted them like some ancient omen of pending doom. Sheets of rain swept the launch ramp. There was so much electricity in the air you could smell the ozone. One by one in order, Alpha, Bravo, Charley Team launched into the pounding rain.

Mark quickly flipped his night-vision goggles down. Except for the blinding flashes of lightening it was as dark as a tomb. The team's electric motors came to life and silently they glided along. Alpha Team up ahead was to disembark on the furthest end of the dock and approach the camp from the left. Mark's Bravo Team was to go up the middle and attack from there. Charley was to hold the dock and high ground above the embankment.

The rafts now separated and went their way now. Up ahead loomed the dock and numerous pilings. There was a ladder leading down into the water which they would have to climb. Suddenly Gale stood, loaded an arrow and let it fly. Mark saw the outline of a guard slump and fall. Another anonymous shape of another guard went to call out. There was another "twang" of the bow and that guard fell as well. Since she was standing and had a better view, she unleashed a third arrow and a guard cascaded off the dock and into the water near Mark's raft. His splash hitting the water was thankfully muffled by thunder rolls.

In no time at all was the raft was secured and the team assembled on the deck. Up ahead was a wooden ladder that led up to the base proper. The ladder didn't go straight up but had two landings. There were some people high up on the furthest landing. Their team leader made a motion to get down while he studied the situation. There were sudden shouts in German. They came too fast for Mark to translate. In quick succession, three shots rang out. Tumbling down the steps came three Waffen SS guards – all shot dead.

Mark's team leader with Mark following right behind raced upward. What they found was shocking. Two women dressed in long white lab coats. The tallest, a stunner of a blonde, held a smoking Luger. There was a tall male, also dressed in a lab coat. "Who the hell are you? Larry Thorn said, leveling his M-4 at them. "Americans! Hot damn." the male said in a perfect New Jersey accent. Further discussion was put aside when the first round from the 120 mm mortar hit the camp. Many more soon followed.

**Chapter 11:**

By Mike3121

Larry Thorn took the still smoking Luger from the tall blonde, Dr. Bauer. Carefully he put the safety on and stuffed it in his belt. It was hard to hear what he said what with the loud detonations of the incoming 120 mm mortar rounds so he yelled. "For god's sake take off them white coats. You stand out a mile." The English speaking Dr. Faber quickly translated. With the coats removed Dr. Bauer's stunning beauty was even more revealed. "Dibs on the blonde," One man said softly, another replied, "No I got dibs."

Thorn, being all business said, "Stanley, take Heidi Klum here and her friends down to Charlie Team. Tell 'em they're coming back with us." Stanley gave a quick nod and escorted the trio down the long rain swept wooden steps. At last the mortar rounds ceased. "Okay people, let's go," Thorn said and led the charge up the steps.

They immediately came across a small brick wall no more than 3 feet high. It didn't offer any real protection. This brick wall was Charlie Teams blocking position. Thorn and his team had to move out to their objectives quickly. Mark looked out at the camp for the first time. The sheets of rain and dark low hanging clouds tended to turn day into night. Then, with each flash of lightening everything became daylight again. Yet despite that, the camp was well lit. Night vision goggles were of no use here.

Several buildings were fully engulfed in flames. Far off, at the other end of the sprawling camp, raged a huge fire, right where the POL point was located. German soldiers, nothing more than a dark silhouette against the flames were running to and fro. Acting in unison the team rose up and climbed over the low wall. The last person over and covering them was a man carrying the M-249 SAW. Off to the right some 100 feet away was the first of a row of low buildings. The third was round, low and squat, the ammo bunker and their mission priority.

Quickly they ran out in the open towards the first building. So far they were undetected despite numerous Waffen SS soldiers running about. One group set up a heavy machine gun behind sandbags per-positioned in front of the ammo bunker. Thorn called two of his team members that had M-203 40 mm grenade launchers attached to their M-4 carbines. They were getting ready to fire on the machine gun when the staccato sound of automatic weapons could be heard far to their left; Alpha Team had opened the assault, trying to free the slaves.

After heart pumping effort Chairman Cabrillo had gotten his team in position. The compound housing the slaves were well guarded and had a tall guard tower in front by the main gate. There were, by rough estimation, over 200 souls to be rescued. The guards were in a mean mood and a dozen slaves lay dead inside the barbed wire enclosure, shot down for no apparent reason. The Chairman was disappointed when he looked over the compound. He'd hoped the mortar attack would have done more damage. Chairman Cabrillo figured it was the thick mud brought on by the heavy rains which tended to muffle the mortars effects. Mortars, though effective, were not a precision weapon. The barracks and POL fire were the only real damage. Also, only a few Waffen SS had fallen.

One of his team members let fly a 40 mm from his M-203 grenade launched. Another team member also fired his 203. Both exploded against the guard tower. There was a short scream and two guards tumbled and fell with a "plot" into the thick mud. The remaining 12 to 16 guards looked about, gripping their Sturmgewehr 44 MP 40 machine guns. From hiding, Alpha Team cut them all down.

Reacting with lightening speed two of his team ran forward and shot the lock off the main gate. Both men yelled in Spanish and Portuguese "to run, get out!" There was some hesitation but once they figured out what was happening it became a headlong race. Out in the camp were heard several commands in German to cut them down, kill all the prisoners. It came too late. The last of them had scurried off into the dark green of the jungle. Furious, the officer in charge organized an assault on the intruders.

During the interval, before a full assault could be mounted, one of Chairman Cabrillo's men noticed a disheveled gray-haired scientist in a lab coat calmly walking across the compound. By now bullets were flying in all directions and it was a miracle he hadn't been hit. He was elderly and no doubt one of the main scientists working on the bomb. The scientist calmly walked to the heavy steel door of the large concrete building housing the A-bombs. "Should I kill him, gun him down?" asked one of the chairman's men aiming.

Chairman Cabrillo thought for a moment and remembered the map with the circular lake. Long ago, back in 1943, they're had been a nuclear explosion here. Perhaps his team's assault on the base was the catalyst. This scientist now entering the bunker was going to set the 6-hour trigger and destroy everything. He must have been a mad man. They must not interfere with what was to be. When the thick door slammed shut the chairman called on his radio and said, "Retreat, call all teams back to the ship. The mission is aborted. I say again mission is aborted." There were confused looks but his people never questioned orders.

Meanwhile, across the compound, those words were music to their ears. It had been a dangerous slog running 50 feet in the open between buildings. One building, the admin office, held some soldiers. Two grenades tossed inside silenced them. Finally, Bravo Team was now almost at the bunker. More and more Waffen SS were busy setting up defensive positions around the bunker. There was a long building to the teams left the ran perpendicular to them. Now they were getting fire from its many open windows. The Germans were attempting to flank them. The teams position was hopeless, they'd be lucky if they could get out alive much less take the bunker.

"Fall back, fall back," screamed their team led over the din of weapons fire. Just then the man behind Mark took a full burst. He was dead before he hit the ground. Despite their high tech Kevlar Graphene composite bulletproof vests, it didn't make them invincible. Mark saw a German in an open window in the building across from him. With one quick burst he killed him. Another quickly took his place, Mark fired again and he also fell. Gale right behind Mark let out a cry of pain. She'd been shot in the lower right leg. Mark retrieved the fallen teammates M-4 and helped Gale hobble along. They began a dangerous retreat with the SAW man covering them. His weapon was quite devastating and he must have cut down a dozen or more of the enemy. Yet they still came on, trying to outflank them and not mount a full-frontal assault.

At last, they reached the low brick wall. Charley Team had just vacated it and were winding their way down the wood steps. The whole escape was fraught with danger, especially the open wood deck then the ride in the unprotected Zodiacs. Quickly they climbed over the wall and sought cover behind it. None too soon as the top of the wall was suddenly riddled with machine gunfire. Another Bravo Team member slumped over, severely wounded. Mark raised and let loose a burst. The Waffen SS was almost to the wall. One climbed up and pointed his weapon at Mark. Someone on the team, or perhaps their hidden sniper, shot him clear off. Their position was untenable. Mark raised once more to fire but his clip was empty; in the confusion of the battle, he had forgotten to reload. He saw a figure not more than 30 feet away raise a Panzerfaust, an anti-tank weapon and precursor to the famous RPG. There was no time to think, just react. Mark dove and covered Gale and the wounded man with his body. There was a deafening explosion then darkness enfolded him.

Charley Team came to the rescue and help extract Bravo Team. It was touch and go however once they made it into the river and onto the rafts, the darkness offered them protection. Soon the survivors saw the red glow of the Oregon's interior. Quickly the wounded were unloaded. Mark and another Bravo Team member were severely wounded. Gale caught a round in the leg. Team Leader Thorn was wounded in the right arm. They'd lost another man from Bravo Team during the extraction. Alpha Team lost one man, cut down by automatic weapons fire, Travis Green the diver.

Chairman Cabrillo, still splattered with Travis Green's blood raced to the Operations Center. "Linc why aren't we moving!" He screamed. The tension was always high and the niceties of everyday conversation were set aside. "Yes sir, Moving now," Linc replied rattled. The Oregon began to pull away into the darkness of the tropical storm though they couldn't move fast in the meandering tributary. The Chairman's greatest fear now was the E-Boats. So far they hadn't seen them.

They hadn't gotten far when a small flotilla of boats appeared in the river behind them. They were of all shapes and sizes composed of speedboats, cabin cruisers, and motorized fishing boats. The Chairman zoomed the camera and saw the boats were stuffed full of cooks, clerks, and scientists. They had known or had guessed the deadly potential of the A-Bomb now on its deadly 6-hour countdown. "The stern machine gun team called in and asked for guidance." "Let em pass. If they don't hurt us we won't hurt them." The small craft all but ignored the Oregon and raced on. Soon they were out of sight around a bend.

At last the big ship reached the last bend. The Operations Staff could see the open sea ahead. Tension began to subside when the roar of Mercedes engines at full throttle could be heard. The lead E-Boat had just rounded the last bend of the river. With professional calmness, the FGM-148 Javelin operator sighted and fired. There was a huge explosion and the lead E-Boat disintegrated into a shower of sparks. There was a second E-Boat following close behind and it flew into the debris. It must have hit something for it careened off at a 90-degree angle and ran up onto the beach, its decks awash in flame. Seconds later it too exploded into oblivion.

Up the coast the Chairman saw the small flotilla of boats head south at full speed. With luck, they could make it out of the blast zone. The decision was made. The best option the Oregon had was to get as far away as possible, out into the open sea and ride out the ensuing shock waves. Never had any member of the crew imagined they'd be fighting Nazi's and running from a nuclear blast. With the engines straining at 110% and well into the danger zone they raced towards safety.

**Chapter 12:**

By Mike3121

The Oregon, straining its propulsion system beyond safety limits, got as far away as possible. It then turned to face the oncoming shock waves. The waves eventually came but were much less in severity than expected. Perhaps, since they'd ridden out a category 5 hurricane a mere nuclear blast was child's play.

It was determined by the Operations Staff that, because of the low cloud cover, lack of wind and heavy rain the radiation spread would be mostly limited to the immediate blast area. Then there were the winds aloft which could carry the radiation far and wide. No one had the answer to that.

With that crisis averted Captain Cabrillo and Linc looked in on the wounded. Dr. Huxley greeted them and gave them a run down. All of the wounded from the Pinnacle Island blast had been released, though with limited duty. Two technicians would have 40 to 50% permanent hearing loss. Of the 6 wounded Germans rescued when the raider went down, 4 were released and were now under guard. Then there were three badly wounded from the latest battle. Two would survive but not Mark Dietrich. His body had taken the full concussion of the Panzerfaust. Because of his unselfish act of bravery, he had just a few days to live; five at the most. Nothing of medical science could save him, even if sent to the best medical hospitals be it 1943 or their own time.

Dr. Huxley related that Gale Turner had sat at Marks side the whole time with her eyes red from crying; refusing to eat or have her wounds re-bandaged. She spent most of the time whispering to Mark though he was in a coma and unresponsive. Captain Cabrillo noticed someone had bestowed on Mark a supreme honor; they'd pined a SEAL badge on his hospital gown as a sign of respect. Captain Cabrillo shook his head. Linc said softly, "Looks like we've got some more names to add to our Wall of Hero's back at our main office." The captain nodded sadly in agreement.

The two then went to the dining room to get some breakfast when an excited technician ran up to them. He related that the mysterious object following them was headed right their way. Linc and the captain raced to the Operations Center. The radar tech looked up from his scope and gave the captain and Linc a quick report on the situation. "It's coming in at a leisure pace of 600 mph. I'd say it is NOT a missile. Looks to be a piloted object." The tech gasp when he saw the object make a sudden burst of speed. "Oh, oh," he said in shock, "It's...it's on us. It's landed on our stern!" Captain Cabrillo was in shock for a second; he'd looked over the technician's shoulder and had seen for himself the tremendous burst of speed.

"Captain we got something landed on our stern," Mark Murphy said, looking at a camera view of the stern deck. "Mark, send an armed security detail to the stern. No firing but keep an eye on it." The captain added nervously. "Let's take a look at that thing." He stated to Linc. Racing down the companionway and dodging crew members they soon reached the open deck.

The rain had lessened but it looked like another storm brewing on the horizon. They ran quickly towards the mysterious object. The security team was already there, surrounding the object with M-4 Carbines lowered, ready for immediate use. What the captain and Linc saw was a bright red boat. Well, it was in the shape of a boat, some 30 feet long and 8 to 10 feet wide. Its hull was bright red, such a red neither of the men had ever seen, not even on the most custom of cars. The paint had a 3D depth to it. It was stunning to look at. The top deck, also red, didn't go back far. Most of the upper deck of the craft was taken up by a long deeply gray-tinted glass or Plexiglas canopy.

It made no noise and hovered mere inches above the ship's deck. The captain and Linc looked at each other; they knew they were looking at something not of their time and surely not of 1943. Perhaps it was not even of this world. The guards were unnerved by the strange object. Without any warning, the deeply tinted front portion of the glass turned to clear. It revealed two tan bench seats. Seated calmly on them were a man and woman in the front and a small girl in the back seat. Upon seeing the child Captain Cabrillo ordered a stand down.

The man, seated on the port side, near the captains and Linc smiled. With a slight wave of his hand the clear part of the glass covering vanished. He then rose and the side of the craft gave way and turned into some steps. This was all done in complete silence. Captain Cabrillo looked him over. He was a handsome man, muscled but not too extreme. His tan was even and naturally looking. He wore a light gray type jumpsuit that shined and reflected in the sun. The man looked to be in his late 30's however around his eyes were small lines that indicated he was much older, perhaps in his 60's. The captain noted the mother and she wore the same type uniform though more colorful; the wife in a deep burgundy and the daughter's an aqua. "Hello, my name is Jaz Quint. This is my wife Nona and daughter Morgan. We'd like to become a member of your skit...er...crew." He said with a reassuring smile.

For once in the Oregon's many adventures and operations, Captain Cabrillo and Linc were speechless. "Un..." The captain said searching for words, "Who are you, people?" The man, Jaz Quint explained. They had been time travelers as well. They were out on a relaxing Sunday jaunt when they went through a squall line and suddenly they found themselves back in 1943. Jaz was evasive as to the exact date in the future they came from.

Captain Cabrillo then asked, "If they were so far advanced why couldn't they get back?" Jaz stated, "Our society might be advanced but we are not all-knowing or all-seeing. I've seen old movies and paintings as to what you people think it will be like. All Greek or Roman togas, sitting around by a reflecting pool spouting poetry. We have jealousy, greed, anger, murder even. Yes, we also have honor, friendship, and bravery. Nothing changes in human nature." He then continued, "I could tell by your radar you were more advanced than this era and that's why I sought you out. These random time anomalies are as much a mystery to us as to you."

"So you're stuck here with us." Linc injected. Jaz nodded and stated, "Instruments on my craft are calibrated to let me know if the time anomaly reappears. It does so on a random basis. Sometimes you go right back where you came from, sometimes you just vanish. Though it might not appear for 20 to 30 years." Jaz then looked towards his wife and daughter.

"My craft runs off seawater so it never lacks for power. What we can't duplicate is food. We're starved, we've been living off coconuts and whatever we could find for weeks." Jaz added in a soft almost pleading voice. "Sure," Captain Cabrillo stated, "Linc and I haven't had breakfast either." Jaz then went to his craft and helped his wife and daughter out. He brought along with him a small briefcase.

There were plenty of looks by crew members at Jaz and his family. Maurice, the ship's chef introduced himself to their new crew members. "Anything you like, just name it." He said with a smile. Jaz thought for a moment then said, "full English, can you do that?" "Oh my favorite," he stated. The wife Nona also said she'd like the same. Their daughter, that looked about 7 or 8, hardly acknowledged Maurice and seldom looked up from her toy. She was playing with a small silver ball that floated in front of her, where she knocked it from hand to hand. "Um some kinda guess, maybe a fan." Maurice gave her a puzzled look. "She'll have pancakes and some sausage," Nona said with a smile.

The Quints were famished and devoured their breakfast quickly. Maurice brought them second helpings of everything. They devoured that as well. Well, thought Captain Cabrillo, they weren't lying, they were sure starved. Also from what he'd seen, they were beyond doubt from some future time.

"Captain, I'm no scientist but I had my on-board system analyze your propulsion system and I have a list of improvements. You could almost double your speed and increase electrical output by 40%." Captain Cabrillo and Linc looked at each other. Jaz then pulled a silver tube about 8 inches long and an inch wide from his case. "This is what you would call a computer. It's all in here." Then with a press of a button on the top, the tube extended to 2 feet or so. Next, a flexible plastic-like sheet extended out over 3 feet. When it reached its full length it hardened and a colorful screen appeared. "It's all in here on how to achieve these changes without special metals or tools. Here, you can have this; it's an old model anyway. I've got 5 more." Both Captain Cabrillo and Linc were extremely grateful. Jaz spent a few minutes showing the captain how it worked.

Jaz then showed Linc and the captain a hologram of their home. Suddenly a realistic image of a silver round saucer-like home appeared. It was very detailed and real looking, like an actual object. There were trees, a small pool, some grass. Jaz explained it floated some 2,000 meters above the ocean. "You live in the sky?" Linc said with his mouth open. One crew member almost dropped his tray when he looked at the realistic hologram floating above the table.

A serious subject was breached by Jaz. Since they are all stuck here what would they do? How would they survive? The Captain had thought about that but had not expressed his ideas to anyone. "We'll probably head to Rio and sit out the war. The Oregon's got a nice state of the art machine shop and two large 3D printers. I think we can all live aboard the ship and enjoy the air conditioning. Electricity in 1943 Rio was an on and off thing. We could sell precision machine parts. There are 19 pallets of Nazi gold in the hold but I think in this era it was illegal to deal in the stuff."

Linc looked sad then added. "We figured after the war everyone will eventually drift away, making their way in the world as best their ability. Probably after 10 years or so the ship will start to malfunction. Linc and I will be the last. We'll take her far out to sea and sink her so none of our technology falls into the wrong hands."

The Quint family settled in quickly. As for the Germans; they didn't believe any of that "we are from the future," business. Especially the scientists, they categorically refused no matter what high tech bit of electronics we showed them. Linc had a plan though. He rounded them all up, still under guard and sat them in the ship's theater wearing 3D glasses. He then played Avatar for them at full Dolby. They all came out in a state of shock. That was the final thing to convince them. They all cooperated after that; that "name, rank and serial number" was dropped. Most wanted to sign on as members of the crew. The tall blonde scientist was causing a great stir among the male members of the crew, more so than the 12 brand new BMW motorcycles in the hold. Captain Cabrillo and his staff decided to be fair and raffle off the motorcycles. As for the blonde doctor, she was on her own.

Slowly the Oregon made its way towards Rio. Jaz and his family adapted well. His wife was a Level 4 nurse, well that's what she called herself anyway. She helped out in the infirmary as best she could through without her high tech instruments she was lost. It was easier to train up the young German medical officer than train down the Level 4 nurse from the future. Daily Mark Dietrich grew weaker. The Germans were still guarded and now undergoing English language classes. Captain Cabrillo and his staff decided, since the ship had excellent forging capabilities, the crew was all to get Irish passports and the Germans would become Swiss.

The Oregon's propulsion and electricity-producing systems were upgraded as per Jaz's computer recommendations. Then there was a short sea trial. When the Oregon accelerated many of the crew almost got whiplash from the sharp acceleration. One tech said you could almost water ski behind the ship now. Another tech, looked at the ships speed and said, no, your wrong, you CAN water ski behind the ship now. Also, the changes proved to be very stable. Many of the upgrades were a mystery even to the propulsion staff but they worked and that was all that mattered.

There was a morose feeling gripping the crew. The reality of never going home again was settling in. For a time, with all the combat these feelings were temporarily set aside. Now pictures of wife and family were looked at longingly, sadly. No member of the crew was immune from these feelings. One afternoon Jaz came running up to the captain. He was quite winded, probably from climbing up or downstairs. "My ship...gasp...notified...gasp...time...anomaly." "What are you trying to say?" Captain Cabrillo asked with nervous apprehension. By now Jaz had recovered. "My ship has detected the time anomaly reforming. We can go home. Usually, if it is the same electrical components as the last you can go back to the time you left, give or take a bit." He pulled out a silver tube from a jumpsuit pocket. It was bigger than the one he'd previously presented to the Captain. "See, here's the course. Just follow my radar signature or this course." He stated excitedly. "Here," Captain Cabrillo said, handing the computer back. He was talking to a blank space for Jaz had run off to collect his family.

Moments later the captain almost literally ran into them in a companionway. They were all smiles and happy, even their rather spoiled and aloof young daughter. Just then Captain Cabrillo had a thought. "Say, Mrs. Quint, this future of yours. I suppose medical science has advanced a lot." "Why yes captain. You would consider them miracles in your era." She said with confidence. "Well, why not take Seaman Dietrich with you. He'll be dead in a couple of days." Her eyes lit up, "Yes we have plenty of room." She said with enthusiasm. "Make it fast, that anomaly won't last forever," Jaz added.

The captain radioed the Operations Center and told them the new heading. Seconds later he felt the ship lurch and change direction. He went below and explained to Dr. Huxley the plan. Gale, still at Mark's side almost continually since he brought aboard heard what was happening. "I'm going too," she said in a determined voice. Captain Cabrillo saw that it was hopeless to even try to talk her out of it. He ordered that Mark's personal effects and especially the gold plated Luger in its presentation case be loaded on the Quints craft. It was valuable in his era and it would be worth a fortune in some advanced time. Gale ran off to gather her items. Captain Cabrillo told a crew member to retrieve a particular painting from his cabin. It was small and highly valuable. He carried it out on the deck, gave it one last look and sighed.

The Quints were already inside their craft and Mark, still unconscious and IV bottle attached was carefully being loaded. Gale, carrying a large backpack came running up and climbed inside. Captain Cabrillo handed the painting to Jaz. "This is worth a fortune and I give this to you in appreciation of helping out our ship and saving Mark's life." Jaz nodded and said in a hurried voice, "Hey, come visit us sometime." Captain Cabrillo laughed. A split second later the bright red boat-shaped craft silently rose high in the bright tropical sky. The captain's last image that he took away was of Gale's smiling face. He watched as it flew off at breakneck speed until it vanished into the horizon. He thought of what type of life or future was in store for the young couple.

**Chapter 13:**

By Mike3121

With a course laid on the Oregon cut a swath through the waves, it's power and propulsion system operating to maximum efficiency thanks to Jaz Quint. Captain Cabrillo prayed in the depths of his heart they had all made it; the Quints back to their magical like home in the sky and Gale and Mark to start a new life far different from the one they left. The captain returned to his operations center to monitor the ship's progress. Enthusiasm was in the air now, a new spring in the crew's step, hope had taken the place of despair.

Onward throughout the afternoon, the Oregon raced. Its goal was a mere speck on the radar, but that speck meant everything to them. Closer the two points on the radar converged. There was an audible gasp when it came into view. It was no longer like a squall line, more like a small green-tinted cloud hovering on the ocean's surface. "Is it big enough to get us through?" Linc stated, his voice tinged with fear. "That's all we got." exclaimed the captain. There was not only the fear they might not get through but a newer more terrifying thought that just part of the ship might make it. Caught between two spaces in time the Oregon would be torn apart.

The Oregon traveling at a fast clip moved into and out of the green mist. No sooner had the big ship slipped through when there was a loud report behind them. This loud report occurred when the time anomaly closed, like a cannon shot or much more like air rushing into a vacuum. This time the transit through the cloud was very short and subsequently no loss of power. There was pandemonium in the operations center when a technician screamed, "I got the Internet!" This was followed by others confirming the ships return from the past. High fives and hugs were rampant among the crew. The Germans, however, felt fear and trepidation. They were forever cut off from their past. This would be their new world. Such severe cultural and technological shock made them afraid. Some wept openly for their long-departed families and friends. A few, just a few, openly greeted their new world.

A technician looked at the time date and announced they'd been gone close to 3 months. Somehow they'd picked up 53 days. Helmsmen Stone stated that the instruments showed them at the same point they had crossed into the anomaly, not an 800-mile skip. Captain Cabrillo was relieved and slumped into a chair, both physically and emotionally exhausted. His rest was momentarily for a case agent from CIA headquarters at Langley appeared on the screen.

He had a dour stiff expression. Captain Cabrillo sat up. Linc stopped what he was doing and joined the captain. "You've been gone close to 3 months. We had sea and air searches out looking for you." He said in anger. Two other CIA men stood behind the case agent. They didn't seem pleased and had the look of supervisory staff. Captain Cabrillo and Linc exchanged glances; this did not bode well.

The captain tried to explain what they had just gone through. The CIA man didn't even try to listen. "This is what is going to happen." He said sternly, "We have a Federal Arrest warrant out for you and your crew. You are wanted for stealing secret Chinese government documents and property, all in violation of international law. You are hereby ordered to report to the nearest US Navy base where your ship will be impounded and the crew arrested pending trial." There was silence in the Operations Center. "The fix is in," Linc said under his breath. "GO TO HELL!" Shouted Captain Cabrillo in full voice. There were many cheers of approval. The CIA man went to say something and was cut off at mid-sentence when the captain severed the com-link.

"Helmsman Stone set us a course for Rio at full speed. We aren't that far away. No extradition from Brazil. Also, we've got a corporation branch office there, as well as, our own docking space." The captain stated still shaking with anger. Linc just shook his head. "I guess we're the scapegoat for this whole affair. Probably cooked up between State and the Chinese." Captain Cabrillo then added, "Well this sort of thing comes and goes. A new administration, a new CIA head. That sort of thing. They need us more than we need them."

"Hell Rio ain't that bad. We've got tons of gold. I'm thinking of donating those Bf 109's and spare engines to Duxford Flying Legends. They'd sure love 'em." Captain Cabrillo stated. "I got an idea captain, Linc state with a smile, "The lobby of our corporate office in Rio is kind'a sparse. That Chinese escape pod would sure dress it up." "Yes!" The captain said in agreement.

Days later the Oregon docked at its private docking facilities in Rio. The crew looked forward to putting their feet on dry land and enjoying the sights. The new crew members, the Germans, now with up-to-date Swiss documentation also went ashore. Their eyes glazed over at the new world before them.

THE END

High in the Andes, a thick blanket of pure white snow covered the craggy bare ground. It also covered much more. Bodies, shrunken and withered with time. Bodies of both native and German Waffen SS, scientists and native chiefs all lay intertwined, united in death. The Germans lay with their rusting automatic weapons and the natives with old lever-action 30-30 carbines. There were even a few rusting machetes among them.

The wind howled as it turned and twisted through long-abandoned buildings. So much effort to establish a base high in the frozen sparsely populated Andes, in an area bordering both Peru and Brazil. What would have brought them here, what secret was hidden here? Why would the natives of the area risk everything to drive the devil foreigners from their sacred ground? Perhaps the secret lay in a nearby dark cold tunnel.

Perhaps a creature lurked they're a creature that feeds off human flesh. Perhaps not, It might harbor some wonder of science, a new mineral, a plant or even a hoard of gold. There was only one sentinel now, a sightless shriveled corps resting against the entrance to the cave. His steel helmet fallen away, his uniform rotted by time. He knew, he knew the secret.


End file.
